


The End of the Song

by RiotGere



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys is not insecure, Everyone is more emotionally intelligent, Fix It, No one goes to Last Hearth, Season 8, Tyrion is smart, cersei is not pregnant, no one needs to see that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 42,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiotGere/pseuds/RiotGere
Summary: I needed to fix Season 8. It will start off very similar, and then diverge from *cough* canon. Starting with: Cersei is not pregnant. She sends Lannister forces to Winterfell. The Great War takes more than one night and villains receive their just ends.I obviously don't own any of these characters or this world, that's all on GRRM.Gender neutral pronouns for dragons: Dhe (DEE), Der (DER), Dhey (DAY).





	1. The Shape of Things to Come

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter starts with the opening of the episode "Winterfell" (Season 8, Episode 1). I couldn't think of a more boring title for a chapter, so I settled for a more interesting one.

### Castle Black

When Tormund Giantsbane saw the dragon wight flying directly at the wall Tormund was standing on, his mind went blank. Several decades of survival instincts moved his feet and his mouth and he bellowed to the others to move, move, move. He faintly registered Beric Dondarrion next to him as they pounded down the steps. _They’re made of wood,_ he thought before the dragon opened der mouth and blue fire flowed from the dragon wight to the ancient wall of ice and magic. Tormund leapt off the wooden stairs to the landing 20 feet below as the catwalk burned and broke apart. Beric landed next to him and rolled, almost falling off. Tormund grabbed him and they ran down the steps. Bodies of wildlings and Crows fell past them as the wall came down under the dragon wight’s attack. At the base of the steps, Eddison Tollett came running towards them with his sword drawn.  
“No, you fool,” Beric screamed. The three of them turned to the stables.  
“We don’t have time to saddle horses. Can you ride bareback?” Eddison asked Tormund.  
“Stupid question,” Beric muttered as Tormund flung himself onto the largest horse.  
The other two scrambled onto their horses and raced for the gate. One of them had to reach Winterfell and warn them that the army of the dead were coming _now_.

 

### Winterfell

The day was grim and grey, and the thousands of soldiers marching up the road must have been weary. But their faces were impassive. Arya felt a shiver brush up her spine. She felt the impending death all around her. But whether it was a message about her countryfolk or knowledge of the enemy to come, she couldn’t have said.

Jon Snow, her wonderful brother Jon rode by! By his side was a woman so beautiful, Arya wondered if the moon itself had ever been jealous. Neither her brother nor the beautiful woman saw her in the crowd, but it didn’t matter. He was here. They were going to fight together.

Gendry rode by then, and Arya sucked in a breath, caught by surprise by the strength of her reaction to seeing him alive. He wasn’t a boy, like the last time she had seen him as he was being sold off to the Red Woman. He was a man. She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on him until he was lost from her sight.

Daenerys rode up to the Lord and Lady waiting for her just outside the gate. Well, waiting for their brother. Jon embraced both of his siblings for the first time in years. Daenerys allowed Jon to introduce her to Lady Sansa and Lord Bran. The Three Eyed Raven cut the niceties short with the news that the Night King had torn down a piece of the wall and was marching towards them... with her dragon.

Daenerys clutched her reins until her knuckles turned white. She waited until her breathing returned to normal before asking Sansa if she could speak to Sansa’s people. The silent Northerners saw the Targaryen Queen show respect to their Lady. Daenerys turned to all the people waiting silently.

“I am grateful to each and every one of you. Every person here is a credit to their House and their name, from Stark to Snow.” The crowd laughed a little. Daenarys smiled radiantly and continued.  
“It takes great courage to face death. We are all afraid, but it must be done. There is no one else that can do it but us. And so we will do it afraid.” Some members of the crowd nodded.  
“We have here the most unique army Westeros has ever seen. The Wildlings have come south of the Wall.” Bellows and yells came from the wildlings. The Northerners closest to them leaned away a bit.  
“The Dothraki have journeyed all the way from the Great Grass Sea of Essos.” The wild Dothraki cheered, howled, and whooped, their horses rearing. The crowd shuffled back a bit. “The Unsullied have faced tests none of us could ever imagine.” The Unsullied stamped the butts of their spears into the ground twice in succession. “We even have,” her pause was so brief no one caught it except for Tyrion, Grey Worm, Missandei, and Jon, “two dragons.” Rhaegal swept over them. “We have leading us the most cunning and strategic minds Westeros can offer. All of this was brought together by Lady Sansa Stark and Jon Snow, the King of the North.”

The people exploded with cheering that went on for more than a few moments. Daenarys smiled sweetly and the sun seemed to pale in comparison. “And I am Daenarys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” Silence fell, as the Northerners shifted uneasily. “I have come to the land of my birth, not as a conqueror, but as a freer of the enslaved. I have come as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I have come as a friend of the North, and indeed as a friend to all life. Because death is truly our only enemy. From this moment until the Night King is defeated, the only enemy we have is death, and Death is the enemy of each of us. This brings us together, however unlikely. Each of us, whether the offspring of the highest noble or the lowest servant, each of us is on the side of life.” The crowd cheered. Daenarys smiled and waved as she and Jon made their way through the gate.

The gruff Northerners thought maybe this Targaryen Queen could help them win.

 

Two Starks, one Snow, and one Targaryen convened a meeting with the Northern Lords, Ladies, Commanders, and advisors.  
Jon gave orders to call the Night's Watch to Winterfell.  
The Maester bowed. “At once, your grace.”  
Lyanna Mormont called out, “Your grace?” Her men were instantly wary, and held themselves ready. The Lady stood and stepped forward. “But you’re not, are you? You left Winterfell a king, and came back a...” She shook her head. “I’m not sure what you are anymore. A Lord? Nothing at all?”  
Jon said, “It’s not important.”  
“Not important?” Her voice became hard. “We named you King in the North.”  
Jon stole a glance at Sansa.  
“Well, they did,” she said in a low voice.  
He sighed. “You did, my lady. It was the honor of my life. I’ll always be grateful for your faith.” He took a deep breath and stood. “But when I left Winterfell, I told you we need allies, or we will die.”  
The small Lady Mormont sat back down slowly, her eyes fiercely pinned to Jon Snow.  
“And I have brought those allies home, to fight alongside us. I had a choice. To keep my crown, or protect the North.” His voice rang off the stone walls. “I chose to set aside my own ego in order to protect the North.”  
The assembled vocalized their approval. Lady Sansa stood, and the room quieted.  
Sansa introduced Tyrion Lannister, Varys, Ser Jorah Mormont, and Grey Worm as officials of Daenerys’ army. “You are to obey any orders given by these men, as well as give them any intelligence that needs to be brought to our attention.”  
The Lords nodded in turn as she looked at each of them. She returned to her seat, and asked the entire room, “May I ask how we are to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? I ensured our stores would last through winter, but I didn’t account for Dothraki, Unsullied, and two fully grown dragons.”  
Lord Royce and Tyrion stood at the same time. The Queen’s Hand indicated that the Lord should speak first.“Thank you, my lord. If it please my lady, we have brought with us as much grain and vegetables as we could carry, both fresh and pickled.”  
Seeing that this discussion probably didn’t include many of them, Jon stood, drawing everyone’s attention. “Anyone that has pressing matters about the state of agriculture should stay to speak with Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion. Everyone else is excused.”

 

Jon walked through the grove to the Weirwood tree. This had always been his favorite place in Winterfell. It both drew him and repelled him. He stared into the face of the tree, blood weeping from its eyes.  
Arya crept up behind him. “You used to be taller.”  
Jon spun around. His favorite sibling stood a few feet away, dressed like a warrior.  
“How did you sneak up on me?”  
“How did you survive a knife through the heart?”  
He laughed softly. “I didn’t.”  
Her stony face cracked into a smile, and she threw herself into his arms. He lifted her with ease, as he had always been able to do.  
When he set her back down, he nodded at the sword he had given her when she was only twelve. “You still have it.”  
Arya unsheathed it and presented it to him. “I named it Needle.”  
“Have you ever used it?”  
The shine in her eyes dimmed a little. “Once or twice,” she answered evasively. But he saw the truth. _My littlest sister is a killer now_ , he thought. He handed Needle back to her, and she slipped it back in the sheath. To cut their discomfort, Jon pulled Longclaw out and presented it to Arya.  
“Where did you get Valyrian steel?” she teased him.  
“Jealous?”  
“No, it’s too heavy for me,” she laughed and offered it back. He slid the sword back into its sheath. They walked back to the castle teasing each other and carrying two heavy pasts.

 

After the meeting, Tyrion found himself alone in the hall with Sansa. He approached her slowly. She gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  
“Lady of Winterfell. It has a nice ring to it.”  
“So does ‘Hand of the Queen.’” She paused. “Depending on the queen, I suppose.”  
“Last time we spoke was at Joffrey’s wedding.” Tyrion shook his head. “Miserable affair.”  
Her lips twisted wryly. “It had its moments.”  
Tyrion looked up at her. This was no longer a cringing girl. This was the Lady of Winterfell. She was more than his equal now. He got the sense she was sizing him up, not as a person, but as a political opponent.  
Sansa smoothed her skirts. “Apologies for leaving like that.”  
“Yes, it was a bit hard to explain why my wife fled moments after the king’s murder.”  
She got the sense that he was slightly intimidated by her, and she liked it. Her lips twitched. “We both survived.”  
Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Many underestimated you. Most of them are dead now.”  
Sansa pinned him with a hard stare. “I heard that Cersei is sending the Lannister army. Why didn't anyone mention it during the meeting?”  
“Oh, come now, my lady. We both know Cersei isn't sending an army.”

 

### King’s Landing

Qyburn approached the queen as she stared over the battlement to the sea below.  
“Your grace, I’m afraid I bring terrible news. The dead have broken through the wall.”  
Cersei thought of the Lannister men that would soon be marching up the Kings Road. She thought of her brother Jaime who would be leading them. She thought of the single wight she saw, and how terrifying only one had been. Her face doesn’t move a muscle.  
“Thank you, Qyburn.” She turned and walked to the stairs. Beneath them, the Iron fleet was docked in the bay flying Euron Greyjoy’s sigil, a red-eyed kraken.

At the prow of the _Silence_ , his armada’s flagship, Euron himself stood with Captain Harry Strickland, commander of the Golden Company.  
After a voyage with this man, he hated him. For his tidiness, for his sense of order, for his honor that was sold to the highest bidder. But most of all, Euron hated him for the general air of a man that expects things to work out like he wants because things have always worked out for him. No struggle, no grit.

“She’s going to be pissed about the elephants,” Euron sneered at Harry, relishing the opportunity to get the last word as he turned and stalked to the captain’s quarters. _Need more wine_ , he thought. _And the prisoner should be taunted at least one more time._

 

Below deck, Yara Greyjoy was tied to the post in the center of Euron’s cabin. Her face was streaked with soot and grime. She had not had an easy voyage, but she was Ironborn. He would have to do a lot more than mildly inconvenience her to break her.  
She lifted her chin. “Why don’t you just get it over with and kill me?”  
Euron knelt down beside her. “But we’re family. The last Greyjoys left in the world.” He sat beside her as if they were friends. “Well, the only ones with balls.” He laughed as if he was the first one to tell such a marvelously clever and original joke. Yara stared at the wall, disapproval radiating from every inch. Not for the first time, Yara was disgusted by him. She had spent most of her life in the company of pirates, yet this man was by far the most disgusting she had ever known.  
Euron uncorked a flask with his teeth. “Besides, if I kill you, who can I talk to?” He spent the next few minutes laying out his woes to his niece, as she tuned him out in favor of contemplating various ways to kill him and escape. She had worked out a few different methods of simply escaping, but she really wanted him to die, so she hadn’t yet acted.

When he tried to offer her the flask, she turned away and asked the question she had been sitting on since he came in.  
“Are we at King’s Landing?”  
Euron smiled, thinking lecherous thoughts about the Queen best left unsaid. “Mmm.”  
Yara said quietly, “You picked the losing side.”  
Euron shrugged. “I don’t see how. But if that is true, I’ll sail the Iron Fleet somewhere else.” He scrambled to a crouching position, his foul breath assaulting her face. “But first, I’m gonna fuck the Queen.” He grinned and left the cabin.  
Yara laughed mirthlessly. “You’re never going to touch her.”

 

In the throne room, Euron and Harry stood below the Queen. Torches flickered.  
“Twenty thousand men, is it?” Queen Cersei asked Harry.  
“Yes, your grace. Give or take a few.” Harry glared at Euron.  
Euron looked affronted. “They cheated at dice. Or maybe I cheated. Someone cheated. They weren’t good fighters, you won’t miss them.”  
Cersei was starting to lose her patience. “Horses?”  
“Two thousand.”  
Cercei smiled. “And elephants?”  
Harry looked uncomfortable. “Uh, no elephants, your grace.”  
The Queen’s eyes were green ice. Her words came out clipped. “That’s disappointing. I was told the Golden Company had elephants.”  
“They are excellent beasts, your grace. But not well-suited to long sea voyages.” Harry felt Euron gloating next to him. It took all his training not to lower his head in shame.  
Cersei dug deep into her court training to maintain her composure and not have the fool executed. “In any event, you are most welcome here in King’s Landing, Captain Strickland.”  
“We look forward to fighting on your behalf, your grace.” He bobbed his head before turning to leave, flashing a smug look at Euron.  
Greyjoy watched him leave before turning back to the woman on the throne. “Am I most welcome here?”  
“You are a true friend of the crown,” Cersei replied, “and an honored guest.” After all, he had played his part perfectly, unlike that moron Strickland.  
“Good. As a true friend and an honored guest,” he paused to look at the Mountain and then placed his foot on the bottom step. The Mountain stepped forward with a growl. Euron leaned around the Mountain and stage-whispered, “I was hoping we could talk in private.”  
“After the war,” Cercei snapped. “That was our agreement.” The idea that he would proposition her while her brother was still in the castle filled her with rage.  
Carefully, he said, “Wars sometimes last years.”  
“Then you have incentive to finish this one quickly, don’t you?” Cersei stood up. “You may help yourself to our generous accommodations.”  
Euron started to shout, “You said...” The Mountain punched him in the stomach and he doubled over, wheezing. Cersei swept from the Throne Room with her terrifying bodyguard trailing behind.  
Qyburn went over to Euron, who had dropped down to sit on the bottom step, holding his stomach and breathing hard. “My Queen has offered for your use all the wine you choose to drink and all the food you choose to eat, as well as... company, if you so choose.”  
Euron stood up with a glower and followed Qyburn. The Queen’s Hand fingered a vial in his pocket. If this lout was too bothersome, Qyburn had no qualms about drugging him into sleep.

 

Bronn of the Blackwater watched in dismay as his three lady guests, whores all, undressed while talking about which Lannister men had gotten killed in the Battle of the Goldroad. _What an off-putting topic_ , he thought.  
Marei pulled her tunic laces. “I heard the dragon burnt up a thousand Lannister men.”  
Craya opened her robe. “Burned up some of my favorite boys."  
Dirah said, "Archie, was it?"  
Sadly, Craya replied, "And William."  
Marei stopped and turned. "Tall, handsome William?"  
Craya said, "Yeah, tall, handsome William. They said what's left of him could fit in a wine glass."  
Bronn impatiently broke in. “I am the only man you ever met who shot a dragon.”  
Craya asked, “Didja?”  
He nodded proudly. “Nearly killed it.”  
Naked now, Marei shoved him back. “That’s brave.” She climbed on top of him. Craya and Dirah, also nude, laid down on either side.  
Craya wasn’t finished.  “That boy Eddie.”  
Dirah twisted a lock of her dark hair around her finger. “The ginger?  
Craya nodded. “That’s him. Came back with his face burnt right off. He’s got no eyelids now.”  
Dirah’s lip curled up in horror. “How does he sleep with no eyelids?”  
Bronn felt his erection slipping away.  “Can we stop talking about the fucking dragons  now?”  
  
From the door, Qyburn’s nasal voice called, “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?”  
All three women turned around to look at the intruder.  
Bronn propped himself up on one elbow. “You’re kidding me.”  
Qyburn stood with hands clasped looking like nothing so much as a giant, wrinkly cock blocker. “Apologies for the interruption, but the Queen did urge me to hurry.”  
Bronn saw that his evening plans were to be foiled despite his best efforts. “Sorry ladies.” He gently lifted Marei off of him, and tucked his wilted member back into his trousers. The women gathered their clothes.  
As Craya passed Qyburn, she smiled at him. "You ever get lonely, I am partial to older gentlemen." Bronn rolled his eyes while he poured himself a drink.

When the door shut, Qyburn said, “The Queen’s brothers made promises to you and broke them. Her grace wants to rectify their mistake.”  
Bronn set his drink down and sat on the bed to lace up hit boots. “Her grace once gave me a castle and a wife, then rectified me right out of them.”  
“That was Ser Jaime’s doing, not hers. When Queen Cersei wants something, she pays in advance and in gold. Several chests of it, in fact, waiting for you in a wagon just outside.”  
Bronn stopped at looked at Qyburn. “So she wants to murder someone, but she can’t send her soldiers.”  
“You’ll be riding with her soldiers, but she needs this person taken care of discretely.”  
“If it’s the dragon queen she’s after...”  
“She has other plans for the Targaryen girl.”  
“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”  
“Our queen’s brother Tyrion is unlikely to survive his northern adventures, but in the event that he does...” A member of the KIng’s Guard stepped forward and handed Qyburn a crossbow.  
Bronn felt his jaw drop.  
Qyburn smirked. “She has a keen sense of poetic justice, does our queen.”  
Unable to hide his disgust, Bronn shook his head. “That fucking family.”  
“When the Citadel expelled me, I thought I would die poor and alone. But in exchange for my service, Queen Cersei made me her Hand. What would she do for the man who rids her of her treasonous brother?” Qyburn lifted his eyebrow.  
Ser Bronn took the crossbow slowly.  
Qyburn left, calling over his shoulder. “Hurry, Ser Bronn. The troops are almost ready to ride out.”

 

Jaime found Cersei in her chambers before he left. She was absent-mindedly stroking the stem of her goblet, staring into space.  
He called out to her softly, not wanting to shock her out of her reverie. She looked at him, dressed in his Lannister armor. Her gaze dropped to the floor.  
“We’re leaving for Winterfell.” His eyes burned into the back of her head. _Please look at me_ , he begged silently.  
She turned her face away from him so he wouldn’t see the tears pricking her eyes. “Don’t lose anymore pieces.”  
Jaime’s jaw fell open at the curt dismissal. He tried to compose himself as he walked to the door.  
“Jaime,” she called frantically. He stopped.  
She threw herself into his arms. He held her fiercely.  
“Please don’t get hurt again, Jaime.” She kissed his shoulder, his face, his lips, anything she could reach. “Please come back to me.” He kissed her back. Not the hot kisses of desire, but the warm kisses of a life-long love, of a matching heart that would always beat in time with hers.

A quarter hour later, Jaime was leading his troops out the gates of the Red Keep and to the King’s Road. Bronn rode beside him, unusually contemplative.

 

### Narrow Sea

On board the _Silence_ , Yara listened to the sound of the sailors making their usual rounds. Her head snapped up when she heard the unmistakable sound of a knife slashing a throat and the body hitting the deck. She waited, heart hammering. Please let it be one of mine.  
The door of the captain’s cabin opened slowly, and another body fell through the door, a axe stuck in his head. Theon Greyjoy stepped into the room with battle fury gleaming in his eyes.  
Yara sighed with relief but didn’t relax. Theon pulled the axe out of the man’s skull and used it to free his sister. When the rope came apart, he pulled her to her feet. She turned to him and headbutted him as hard as she could. He hit the ground with a gasp. She pulled him to his feet.  
“Don’t you ever let me get taken prisoner again.”

Back on her own ship, Yara stood on the deck and let the sea spray cleanse her soul. She breathed the salt air deep into her lungs and was restored. Theon stood beside her, her lieutenant, her first mate.  
“Euron can’t defend the Iron Islands. Not if he’s in King’s Landing with all his men and his ships.” She looked at her brother. “We can take our home back.”  
A shadow of confusion flickered over Theon’s face. “But Daenerys went north.”  
“Daenerys will need somewhere to retreat if they can’t hold the north. Somewhere the dead can’t go.”  
Theon felt himself pulled between conflicting loyalties. He never knew where he belonged. Not a proper Stark, not a proper Greyjoy. Loyal to Jon’s queen, loyal to his own.  
“You’re my queen. I go where you command” Theon swallowed hard. He would accept whatever she decided, and be certain he was doing his duty.  
_He is shit at hiding his feelings They’re all over his face_ , Yara thought as she turned to him fully.  
“You want to go to Winterfell.” It wasn’t a question. “To fight for the Starks.”  
His lips tightened.  
“Go,” she said softly.  
Sure his heart would shatter if he spoke, he only nodded.  
“What is dead may never die.” It was an aphorism she had been hearing all her life. Growing up with the magic and power of the Drowned God hadn’t been comfortable or safe. The Ironborn were living on borrowed time, so they stopped counting time, and measuring life and death, in the same way as others. The Ironborn were indeed always at war; with the sea, with fate, with each other. They lived by violence and died by violence, and were cleansed and made whole by the sea water in their lungs.  
He finally understood what it meant. “What is dead may never die.”  
She grasped his hand and he pulled her in for a hug, hoping that this wouldn’t be the last time.  
Yara spoke with force, close to his ear. “But kill the bastards anyway.”


	2. Courage and Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes a leap, Tyrion has an idea, and Daenerys has a hard conversation.

###  Winterfell 

A caravan of wagons moved toward the castle. Bannermen bearing the Karstark sigil rode behind them, their faces as grey as the sky overhead.  
Lady Alys Karstark dismounted from her horse and was greeted by Lord Yohn Royce.  
“Welcome back, my lady. If you’d follow me.”  
Davos Seaworth, Varys the Spider, and Tyrion Lannister watched the proceedings. No one mentioned how young she was to be the leader of her House, how frightened she must have been, though her face showed no sign of it.  
The three advisors left the logistics to those better suited to them, and strolled through the bustle.  
“Not so long ago, the Starks and the Karstarks were slaughtering each other on the battlefield. Jon Snow brought peace to their Houses,” Davos remarked.  
Tyrion said, “And our Queen is grateful.”   
“Her gratitude is lovely, but that’s not my point. The Northmen are loyal to Jon Snow, not to her. They don’t know her. The Free Folk don’t know her. I’ve been up here a while, and I’m tellin’ ya, they’re all as stubborn as goats. You want their loyalty? You have to earn it.” Tyrion stopped and Davos kept walking with Varys trailing him.  
_ Loyalty _ , thought Tyrion.  __ It can’t be bought. Can it be manufactured? Something to think on.  
Tyrion followed them up the stairs to the battlements. “I sense that you’re leading to a proposal.”   
Varys was uncharacteristically silent. The cold didn’t agree with him, and the reality of the looming battle occupied most of his waking thoughts. He was curious about Davos, though, and interested in finding out where this conversation was going.  
Davos was quiet, staring at the field. “A proposal is what I’m proposing,” he said finally. “On the off chance that we survive the Night King, what if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honorable man?”  
The other two men followed his gaze. Below them, Daenerys held Jon’s arm and smiled at him as he tucked a wisp of hair that had come loose from her braids behind her ear.  
“They do make a handsome couple,” Tyrion mused.  
“You overestimate our influence,” Varys pointed out. “Young people don’t take love advice from lonely, old men.”  
Tyrion grumped that he wasn’t that old, but then a thought clicked. “Our Queen respects the wisdom of age in other matters.” Tyrion looked meaningfully at Davos. “Perhaps Jon does, as well.”

 

Jon and Daenerys walked over the field, discussing strategy and preparation.   
“The Unsullied have really helped the Northerners get ready,” Jon said appreciatively. “And the Dothraki have had quite an impact on the Free Folk.”  
Daenerys laughed. “Have you warmed up to them yet?”  
Jon smiled. “I’m not as uneasy around them as I was. We have a love of horses in common. Once the language barrier is breached, I’m sure we’ll be having each other over for supper.”  
Daenerys laughed again.  _ Her face lights up when she laughs _ , Jon thought.  __ I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.   
Aloud, he asked, “And you? Have you been getting on with my family?”  
“I haven’t had the chance yet,” she admitted. “Sansa is very busy, and I haven’t even met Arya. Bran is...” Daenerys bit her lip. “I’ve talked to Seers before. It can be very disconcerting.”  
Jon nodded. “Aye, I know what you mean. The boy I knew hasn’t grown up into a man. I’m not sure he’s even still there. To tell the truth, I’m worried about him. If we all live through this, what would happen if enemies ever found out what he can do? He’ll be in constant danger.”  
Daenerys considered all the ways the Three Eyed Raven could be used as a weapon of war. She squeezed Jon’s arm. “We won’t ever let that happen. Bran will live the life that Bran wants to live, and if that means keeping his abilities a secret, then that’s what we’ll do.”  
Jon’s heart lifted when she said ‘we.’  
Three bloodriders cantered up to them.  
In Dothraki, she asked the leader, “How many today?”  
The leader replied, “Only eighteen goats and eleven sheep.”  
Jon could tell by the tense set of her shoulders that she was distressed. “What’s the matter?”  
She slashed a look at him. “The dragons are barely eating.”

 

He insisted on accompanying her to visit the dragons. It was too far to walk in the cold. He found them a pair of mounts and they rode off to the hill the Dothraki dragon tenders had chosen as the dragon’s feeding ground. They hobbled the horses far enough away that the two dragons wouldn’t mistake the horses for food, and climbed the rest of the hill on foot.  
“What’s wrong with them?” Jon asked.  
Daenerys petted Drogon’s snout. “I don’t know.”  
Rhaegal extended his neck toward Jon, nostrils flaring.  
Daenerys swung herself onto Drogon’s back.  
Jon looked at her, not sure if he even dared ask.  
With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, Daenerys tilted her head towards Rhaegal. “Go on.”  
“I don’t know how to ride a dragon,” he called to her.  
“I didn’t either, until the first time I rode a dragon.”  
“What if dhe doesn’t want me to?”  
Daenerys stopped smiling. “Then I’ve enjoyed your company, Jon Snow.”   


Challenge presented and understood. He could either take the opportunity presenting itself, hoping that he wasn’t misreading the dragon’s open body language. Or he could walk back to the horses, and the invitation wouldn’t be offered again. He was reminded anew that his Queen and her dragons were a unit. They would never be separated while any of them lived.  
And he loved her. So he would accept every part of her, especially the parts that required courage.  
He cautiously moved behind Rhaegal’s front leg. Using spikes and fins and a healthy quantity of stubbornness, he climbed the dragon.  _ Not like a horse _ , he thought, as Rhaegal began to undulate like a serpent.   
“What do I hold onto?” Jon shouted.  
Daenerys shrugged. “Whatever you can!”  
The moment after Jon threw himself forward on Rhaegal’s back, grasping spiked fins as tightly as he could, the dragon spread der wings and launched derself into the sky.  
Daenerys was thrilled. He accepted her children. Her children accepted him. They could be together. She could give herself over to the feelings that had been fluttering inside her since he showed her the cave on Dragonstone.  
She pressed her heels into Drogon’s sides, and dhe lifted off the ground to chase der sibling.  
The two dragons flew over the forest and the river before flying over the castle itself. Jon’s eyes were shut so tightly he didn’t see how close to the castle Rhaegal was swooping, but the advisors, still on the battlements, watched with mouths agape.  
The joyride continued, farther and faster. Jon, eyes watering from the icy wind, lost sight of Drogon and Daenerys when they dipped into a canyon. Rhaegal flew over it until it opened again, revealing Drogon a hundred feet below them. Without warning, Rhaegal dove to catch der sibling, and Jon screamed in terror.  
Through the canyon, the dragons played tag, delighting in the power of their own bodies, the freedom to play with each other and with their humans.  
Finally getting tired, the dragons landed on a snowy cliff above the canyon. Jon dismounted and patted Rhaegal’s head and snout.  
“You’ve completely ruined horses for me,” he told Daenerys as they started to explore the area.  
She giggled, the smile on her face turning into a perfect o of surprise as they rounded a bend and she saw the waterfall. She admired it for a long moment before turning back to Jon.  
“I could stay here for a thousand years.”  
“But what would I do?”  
“Stay here with me.”  
“We’d be pretty old.”  
She grinned. He got closer and she could see his nose was red from the cold air.  
“It’s cold up here for a southern girl.”  
“Then keep your queen warm.”  
His arm snaked around her waist. She thrilled at his touch, even through her layers. He smiled right into her eyes with his whole heart before kissing her deeply.

 

###  The Forge

In the busy forge, Gendry Waters heated dragonglass in a melting pot so hot it glowed orange. He poured the molten glass into a mold and let it cool.  
“Gendry, he’s here,” one of the smiths called to him.  
Gendry looked up, saw who it was, and pulled a finished dragonglass battleaxe off the wall. “It isn’t easy making a blade that big with dragonglass.” He handed it over to Sandor Clegane for inspection.  
Clegane growled, “You’re sayin’ you’re good, is that it?”  
Immediately self conscious, Gendry shook his head. “I’m just sayin’ it’s a tricky material to work wi-”  
“You know who makes weapons for the wildlings? Cripples and cocksuckers. Which one are you?”  
From behind Sandor, came a woman’s voice. “Leave him be.”  
Both men turned to see Arya Stark. She wasn’t much taller than the last time either of them had seen her, but she was not a child any longer. Hands clasped behind her back, wearing fighting leathers that were all black, an expression of steel on her face.  
Gendry’s eyes swept over her, eyebrows knitted together. She had been a fierce child when he had been a teen on the run. She was different now, but instinct told him she was right where she wanted to be.  
Sandor barely registered anything beyond the fact that she was alive. “I heard you were here. You left me to die.”  
Gendry swallowed hard. If Clegane attacked her, he would defend her. But he was no match for the Hound.  
Arya’s expression never wavered. “I robbed you first,” she replied with cheek.  
Clegane walked over to her. If they had been the same height, they would’ve been nose to nose. The tension in the room swelled. Arya didn’t flinch.  
“You’re a cold little bitch, aren’t you?” The Hound glared down at her. She didn’t move. His cheek twitched, the only sign that he might’ve smiled. His tone softened. “Guess that’s why you’re still alive.” Sandor took his axe and left.  
Gendry was confused and relieved. He stepped closer to her.  
“That was a nice axe you made for him,” she said tersely. Her voice warmed a little. “You’ve gotten even better.”  
“Yeah, thanks,” he stammered. “So have you.”   
Her eyes twinkled.  
“I mean,” he tried to save himself, “You look... good.”  
Her stomach did a flip. “Thanks. So do you.”  
Feeling awkward, Gendry strode back to his workbench. “It’s not a bad place to grow up if it wasn’t so cold.”  
Feeling snarky, Arya said, “Stay close to that forge, then.”  
He picked up a dragonglass hatchet, testing its weight so he didn’t have to look at her or think about the effect she was having on him. “Oh, is that a command, Lady Stark?”  
She came up beside him. “Don’t call me that.”  
He actually smiled. Perhaps she wasn’t so different after all. “As you wish, m’Lady.”  
Arya finally cracked a smile. She pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket. “Here’s my wish.”   
Gendry took it from her and looked at the drawing of a type of weapon he had never seen before.  
“Can you make it?” She asked.  
Confused, he asked, “What do you need something like this for?”  
“Can you make it, or not?”  
“You already have a sword.” He indicated Needle. “And what’s that?”  
Arya unsheathed her dagger and handed it to him for inspection.  
“It’s Valyrian steel!” he exclaimed. “I always knew you were just another rich girl.”  
Annoyed with him, but only a little, she kept eye contact while she took the dagger from him and put it back in its sheath. Insolently, she said, “You don’t know any other rich girls.”  
She walked away, turning back to look at him. He was pleased to see she was still smiling.

 

###  The Castle

After a heart-stopping ride back from the falls on two rambunctious dragons and a mellow horseback ride, Jon dismounted in the castle courtyard with shaking legs and a full heart. He helped his queen down from her mount, knowing she didn’t need his help, but thrilled in his heart when she gracefully took his hand.  
“I’d like to clean up and then see if anyone needs me. You’ll be fine here, I assume?” Daenerys waved a gloved hand at the chaos around them.  
“Aye, I will be.” He pulled her into his arms again. “I’ll see you for supper, aye?”  
She kissed him deeply, aware that the nearby wildlings and Dothraki weren’t making any pretense of not watching, even if the Northerners were pretending not to see. His face colored slightly, but he didn’t pull away.  
When they separated, there were appreciative whoops and cheers. Daenerys laughed as she climbed the stone stairs.  
Jon caught sight of Davos and called to him. Davos excused himself from Ser Jorah and came over to him.  
“Can we speak privately?” Jon asked.  
“I was going to ask you the same thing. Where’s a good place to talk?”  
Jon led Davos to his suite.  
Davos indicated that Jon speak first.  
“I want to make Daenerys a gift, but I don’t know how to go about it.” Jon admitted. “I was hoping you might be able to help.”  
“I might at that. What is it you’re wanting?”  
Jon described the item he had come up with on the way back from the falls. He pulled paper and a quill from the drawer in his desk and made a rough sketch as the two of them discussed a few options.  
“And you’ll just be wanting one?” the old man asked, a sly gleam in his eyes.  
Jon grinned. “Better make two, just to be safe.” He laid the quill to the side. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

 

###  The Library

After her bath, Daenerys dressed again. Ser Jorah Mormont knocked on her door as she was putting her coat back on. The Dothraki handmaid excused herself quickly.  
Smiling at him, she said, “Ser Jorah. What can I do for you?”  
His face was unusually grim. “I’m sorry to say, there’s an unpleasant chore that needs to be done, Khaleesi.”  
Daenerys considered what it might be, but the list was too long. “Can I at least have a hint?”  
He smiled sadly at her. “The maester in training who saved my life is here.”  
Confused, she asked, “Isn’t that good news?”  
“It is, Khaleesi; or it would be. But...” Jorah paused. “His name is Samwell Tarly. His father and brother were executed at the Battle of the Goldroad.”  
Her stomach sank. Jon talked about his friend Sam all the time. There wasn’t any running from this. Samwell Tarly could either be a great ally or a dangerous enemy, and she would have to work very hard to keep him on her side.  
She sighed and nodded. Ser Jorah held the door for her, and she swept through it.   
  


They found Samwell Tarly in Winterfell’s library, poring over books by candlelight. Daenerys cleared her throat quietly so they wouldn’t frighten him.  
Sam peeked around the corner, and when he saw who was standing there, he leapt to his feet. “Oh!” He straightened his coat and presented himself to the queen his Brother served.  
“So you’re the man who saved Ser Jorah when no one else could, or dared to even try.”  
“None of them had his brains or his guts,” Ser Jorah rumbled.  
Sam smiled, proud of himself and a little shy about being noticed by such grand persons.  
“I’ll have to make some changes in the Citadel when I take my throne,” Daenerys stepped closer to Sam. “Great service merits great reward.”  
“Well, it’s my honor to serve you, your grace.”  
“Is there something I can give you to show my thanks?”  
Sam considered, and was a bit embarrassed to ask. “If it’s not too much trouble, I could use a pardon.”  
The Queen’s eyes twinkled. A lowly criminal, this man was not. “For what crime?”  
Sam coughed. “I... borrowed a few books from the Citadel.”  
Ser Jorah looked at his feet to avoid laughing at this terrible hoodlum. The Queen’s lips twitched.  
“Also, I borrowed a sword.”  
Daenerys turned her head back to him in surprise. “From the Citadel?”  
“From my family. It’s been in House Tarly for generations, so it would’ve been mine eventually anyway.” A shadow fell over her face, but Sam didn’t know why.  
“Samwell, I need to speak to you about your family. About Randyll... and Dickon.”  
At the mention of his brother, Sam was shaken. “Why? What’s happened?”  
Daenerys sighed. “After Cersei destroyed the Sept of Baelor and killed both Tyrell heirs, Olenna Tyrell joined my army. Cersei then ordered her forces to sack Highgarden.”  
Sam’s legs turned to jelly, and he sat down heavily. Ser Jorah pulled a chair out for his queen. She sat delicately.  
“House Tarly is sworn to House Tyrell,” Sam said weakly.  
“They were... until House Tarly joined the Lannister forces against House Tyrell.”  
The words, though quietly spoken, fell like thunder. Sam closed his eyes, tears seeping through tightly closed eyelids.  
“I wasn’t able to stop the sacking of Highgarden. Sam, I was too late to save anyone. And when I got there with the Dothraki, the Lannisters and the Tarlys attacked my bloodriders and tried to shoot my dragon out of the sky.”  
Sam was weeping now, his massive shoulders shaking under the weight of his grief. He sniffed and asked, “So they were killed in combat?”  
  
Daenerys sat perfectly still. She wasn’t willing to lie to this man. She gathered all her courage. “No, Sam. I executed them for treason.”  
Sam threw himself back, and the wooden chair screeched along the stone floor. Jorah tried to step in front of his Khaleesi, but she shook her head.  
“You executed them? You didn’t take them prisoner?” He was screaming now, tears lost in his short beard. “I’m sure my father deserved it, but Dickon?”  
She nodded sadly. “I offered them a choice. They wouldn’t kneel and swear their loyalty to me. But even if they had, Sam, how could I have trusted them? They had only that day ravaged a House to whom they had sworn their loyalty.”  
Samwell Tarly picked up his chair and threw it into the library. It hit an ancient bookshelf, and a heavy tome fell to the floor, pages scattering.  
Daenerys had lived through her share of men breaking things in anger. And she outranked this man.   
“Lord Samwell Tarly,” she snapped in her coldest voice.   
He froze at the title, chest heaving.  
She came closer to him, and he saw tears sparkling in her eyes.  _ This isn’t the kind of woman who cries to get away with things _ , a little voice told him.  __ These tears are real.  
“I’m sorry I executed your brother. I really am.” Tears ran down her face. “It was a hard decision in a war of hard decisions. I have no right to ask it of you, but I’m asking anyway.”  
He sniffed. “Asking what?”  
She took his trembling hand between hers. “Will you let me grieve with you? Will you let me sit with you, and shoulder the enormous weight of this pain with you?”  
Sam cried, unashamed. “As you wish.”  
“No, Sam,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. “As  __ you  wish.”  
“Why couldn’t you have shown mercy?” he wept into her silver-blonde hair.   
She held him until he caught his breath, and then stepped back slowly. “What would you have done in my place, to lords that had just that day slaughtered those to whom they were sworn?”  
Sam sighed heavily. “They acted without honor,” he said quietly.  
Daenerys wiped her eyes. “I truly am sorry, Sam.”  
Before she could leave, Sam called out, “Will you please do me one favor?”  
She stopped in the doorway and turned to him. “If I can, I will.”  
“The next time you’re facing the same situation, and I hope there will never be a next time, but history shows us that’s pretty unlikely,” he gave a weak chuckle that turned into a choked sob.  
“The next time, please, act with mercy.”  
The Queen gave the barest hint of a nod, and the wooden door closed between them.


	3. Old Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Arya meet. Sam reveals a secret to Jon.

###  The Library

There was a knock on the door of the library. Samwell Tarly had finished gathering up the pages of the book he had damaged, and he was both estimating how valuable the book was and how hard it would be to fix it.  
A young Northman Sam didn’t recognize poked his head through the door. “Maester Tarly?”  
Sam stood up, exasperated. “What now.”  
The man backed out the door and in rolled Bran Stark, the Three Eyed Raven, his wheeled chair being pushed by the lad.  
“Oh. What are you doing in here?” Sam tried a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  
The Three Eyed Raven focused on something in another time, another place. Sam found it uncomfortable. Bran’s eyes finally fastened on Sam.  
“It’s time to tell Jon the truth.”  
Samwell thought of the magnitude of that information, and all the people it would impact, and he started shaking his head. “No, no. You’re his brother. You tell him!”  
The Three Eyed Raven looked at something only he could See. “I’m not his brother. But you are his Brother, and he trusts you more than anyone.”  
Sam sagged in acceptance. “Why would he believe me?”  
“Take the Septon’s journal. Tell him after dinner. He’ll be down in the crypt.” Bran’s eyes slowly found Sam’s face again. “Could you take me to the gate on your way down?”  
“Why?” Sam was bewildered.  
“I need to wait for an old friend.”

 

###  The Castle

Daenerys was walking back to her quarters when a shadow separated from the wall, and there stood a woman that could only be Arya Stark. They sized each other up.  
With a stone face, Arya said, “So you’re the queen.”  
Matching the girl’s stone with ice, Daenerys said, “And you’re the sister.”  
Arya just looked at her. “Does Jon know you’re a killer?”  
Through gritted teeth, Daenerys said, “Yes. Does he know that you are?”  
Arya smiled without mirth. “I think he might suspect.” Her hand toyed with the handle of her dagger. “Why are you here, Dragon Queen?”  
Without thinking, Daenerys answered in Valyrian. “Valar Morghulis.”  
Reflexively, Arya responded. “Valar Dohaeris.”  
The two stared at each other.  
Arya pushed back from the wall and walked past the queen. “Hmm. Maybe you are the queen we need.”

 

###  The Crypt

Jon was lighting prayer candles in the crypt, just as Bran had said, when Sam found him.  
Jon had stepped back to really look into the face of his father’s statue when he heard a loud noise. He followed it to find Samwell Tarly picking himself up off the ground.  
“Sam?”  
“I’m sorry,” Sam wrung his hands. “I know I’m not supposed to be down here.”  
In response, Jon grabbed him in a bear hug.  
“Were you hiding from me?” Jon teased.  
“Of course not,” Sam said reproachfully.  
“What are you doing in Winterfell? Did you read every book in the Citadel already?” Jon expected Sam to laugh, but when he looked into his Brother’s face, he saw tears. “What’s wrong? Is Gilly alright?”  
“She’s good,” Sam sniffed.  
“Little Sam?” Jon pressed.  
“They’re fine. It hasn’t anything to do with them.” He took a ragged breath. “Daenerys executed my father and brother for treason.”  
Jon’s mouth fell open. “What?”  
Ashamed, Sam told Jon about the Sack of Highgarden. “They acted without honor, Jon. I would expect my father to die like that, but not Dickon. He was always... kind... to me.” Sam choked out the last few words before breaking down in Jon’s arms. When his sobs had subsided, Jon asked about Dickon.  
“It was hard growing up fat and more interested in books than fighting,” Sam told him. “My brother was always better at everything than I was, except learning. But my father didn’t see any value in books.” Sam’s face contorted in pain at the idea of anyone not understanding how precious books were.  
“But Dickon liked to listen to me tell him stories of old heroes and kings and gods. Sometimes we would stay awake for hours after bedtime, talking in the dark.” Sam sighed. “I always knew my father hated me, but I never thought he would send me to the Watch. One day, he caught me readin’. That’s all, just readin’ quietly. He threw the book in the fire and screamed at me. I was on a wagon heading North two days later.”  
Jon compared Sam’s childhood to his own, and said another prayer to the gods for Ned Stark.  
“I’m so sorry, Sam. I grew up as a bastard, but at least my father cared for me. His wife wasn’t as kind, but I guess that’s to be expected.”  
“No.” Sam shook his head.  
“No?” Jon was confused.  
“You weren’t a bastard, Jon.”  
Jon took a step back. “I bloody well am.”  
“No, you aren’t.” Sam reached into his tunic and pulled out an old leather journal. “Bran and I worked it out. This is a High Septon’s diary.” He flipped the journal open to a page marked with a ribbon. “Your mother was Lyanna Stark. And your father, your real father, was Rhaegar Targaryen.”  
Jon felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t understand what Sam was saying. Nothing made any sense.  
“You’ve never been a bastard. You are Aegon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.” Sam tried to show Jon the page of the diary.   
Jon pushed it away. “Just tell me what it says!”  
Sam had a flashback to Dickon when he was eight years old. He had done what his brother had asked then, he would do as his Brother asked now. “Septon Maynard issued an annulment to Prince Rhaegar to dissolve his marriage to Elia Martell, and the same Septon married Rhaegar to another woman in a secret ceremony in Dorne.”  
“But it doesn’t say who that woman was,” Jon shouted. “What does this have to do with me?”  
“Because I asked Bran to use his Sight to verify my suspicion. He Saw your mother Lyanna give her newborn son to her brother, Ned Stark. He Heard her tell Ned that the baby’s name was Aegon Targaryen, and to protect him with his life.”  
Jon stalked up to Sam and hissed, “My father was the most honorable man I’ve ever met. Are you telling me he lied to me my whole life?”  
Sam shook his head, a new light in his eyes. “Ned Stark promised your mother that he’d always protect you. And he did! Robert would’ve murdered you if he knew, especially since your existence meant the whole Rebellion had been fought for no reason.”  
Jon rocked back slowly. “What.”  
“Well,” Sam began, “think about it! Robert’s Rebellion was based on the lie that Lyanna Stark was kidnapped and murdered by Rhaegar Targaryen. But she wasn’t kidnapped. They were in love. She married him, and she died in childbirth. If the Lords of Westeros had known that twenty years ago...” he trailed off.  
“But Daenerys...” Jon couldn’t get the words out. Her brother. His father. Rhaegar was her brother. His father Rhaegar...  
“Well, there is that,” Sam had the decency to look uncomfortable. “She is technically your aunt, but neither of you knew that. You're only a few months apart. And since you’re both Targaryens...”  
Jon flinched and backed away.  
“I know it’s a lot to process, Jon. Here.” Sam offered him the diary. Jon stared at it. “For when you tell her. She might want, you know, proof.”  
“I’m not going to bloody tell her!” Jon shouted, his voice ringing through the crypt. “I wish you hadn’t told _me_!”  
“You have to tell her!”  
Jon staggered backward. “Get away from me, Sam.”  
“But...”  
“Get. Away. From. Me.”  
  
Jon stumbled out of the crypt and through the castle. He needed to clear his mind. Whenever he had been upset as a boy, a hard ride through the countryside had always helped him.  
“ _You’ve ruined horses for me.”_ A ride on a dragon would certainly clear his mind of anything but terror. He stopped suddenly. The dragon had smelled him. Rhaegal had known he had Targaryen blood. Did Daenerys know? He pushed that thought away immediately. If she had known, she would’ve told him. She wouldn’t, couldn’t hide something so huge. Huge. Huge like a dragon. Rhaegal. Named in honor of her brother, she had told him...  
He rushed to the stable. He needed a horse, any horse.


	4. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister arrives in Winterfell. This complicates things.

### The Gate

Bran-who-wasn’t-really-Bran watched his brother-who-was-really-his-cousin rush past him, no doubt headed for the stables. The Three Eyed Raven knew he wouldn’t go far, not once he saw who was marching up the Kings Road.  
It took maybe an hour, but Bran could afford patience. If he got bored, he could worg into an animal or relive a piece of history. He liked history. It almost always repeated itself.  
Bran heard the shouts of the guards on watch before he heard the marching army. Through the gate cantered a dappled horse, and riding on it was Ser Jaime Lannister. He dismounted at the tip of an Unsullied spear, and smiled. Jaime’s eyes raked the courtyard, and the smile died when they fell on Bran Stark, sitting in a wheeled chair.

 

 

### The Small Council

Daenerys and her small council were in a meeting when an Unsullied soldier stepped into the room and whispered in Grey Worm’s ear. He stood up so fast his chair almost tipped over. Missandei reached for his arm, but he shook his head at her.  
“My Queen, Jaime Lannister is here, with an army.”  
Daenerys sat, a quiet buzzing filling her mind.  
Ser Jorah touched her arm. “Khaleesi?” he said quietly.  
“I didn’t believe Cersei would send an army,” Tyrion was telling Varys.  
“Nor did I,” Varys replied.  
“Jaime Lannister killed my father,” the queen whispered.  
Silence fell.  
“What do you want us to do with him?” Grey Worm asked. “If we kill him, his troops will attack us, and the Night King will pick us off like sheep.”  
Daenerys folded her hands and rested her chin on them. She stared at the table. “What is more important, a war for survival or an old grudge?” she said to no one in particular.  
“Survival,” Missandei answered quietly.  
“I agree,” Davos said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean a killer shouldn’t be held accountable for his crime.”  
Tyrion made a small, unhappy noise.  
“Wait!” A woman’s voice shouted from the doorway, and a loud scuffle developed.    
Daenerys waved her hand at the door, and Grey Worm opened it. The whole council watched a guard try to stop a large woman in heavy armor. She punched him and he hit the floor. Eyebrows went up all around the room.  
“Please, your grace!” the woman yelled. “Please listen to me!”  
Daenerys stood. The room was filled with the sound of chair legs scraping the floor as the whole council got to their feet as well. “What is your name, please?”  
The guards stopped pulling at her, and the woman stopped shouting. “I am Brienne of Tarth, your grace.”  
Sansa Stark stepped into the room behind Brienne.  
“Lady Stark,” Tyrion greeted her. She barely nodded at him.  
“Brienne of Tarth, you are most welcome, although in the future I would appreciate you simply knocking on the door,” Daenerys chided.  
“I’m so sorry, your grace. It won’t happen again. I needed to make sure you know before you pass judgement.”  
“And you are here...” Daenerys said to Sansa.  
“To vouch for Brienne.”  
“Alright.” The queen sat down. The council found their seats. Sansa also took a seat, her face impassive. “What is it we need to know?”  
Brienne took a deep breath. “During the War of the Five Kings, I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark to protect her daughters from harm. When Robb Stark’s forces took Jaime Lannister hostage, Catelyn Stark freed him into my keeping to get him safely back to King’s Landing in order to trade him for the release of her daughters.”  
“He was an arrogant ass, and his tomfoolery got us captured by the Bolton’s men. They were going to...” She shuddered. “He lost his hand saving my virtue, your grace.”  
“That was very nice of him, but...” Davos began.  
He received a slashing look from Sansa sitting next to him. “I don’t believe she’s finished, Ser Davos.”  
Brienne went on. “He saved me more than once from that group. The next time, it was from a fighting pit they threw me into... with a bear.”  
Startled exclamations from around the table. Daenerys held up her hand for silence, her eyes fixed on Brienne’s face. She nodded to the woman to keep going.  
“When we got to Harrenhal where Tywin Lannister was stationed, his wound was cleaned and treated, but he had lost a lot of blood and he was shaky from the medication. I’ve seen a lot of men in that state, and they are not in the condition to lie to anyone, which is why I believe what he told me about your father.”  
The queen had gone very still.  
“The entire journey, I had been calling him Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Treating him like scum, your grace. And dizzy, malnourished, and in astonishing pain, he finally told me the truth about the day King’s Landing was sacked.” Her next words were bare of emotion.  
“King Aerys was obsessed with wildfire. He loved to watch people burn, the way their skin blistered, blackened, melted off their bones. He burned Lords he didn’t like, Hands that disobeyed him, anyone who was against him. Before long, half the country was against him. Aerys saw traitors everywhere, so he had his pyromancer place caches of wildfire all over the city. Under the Sept of Baelor, in the slums of Flea Bottom, houses, stables, taverns, even beneath the Red Keep. Finally, the day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched on the city. Tywin defected with the whole Lannister army. Jaime, as a member of the King’s Guard, urged the King to surrender. Varys tried to warn him. Pycelle lied and got him to open the gates. Tywin sacked the city. Jaime begged your father to surrender. Aerys told Jaime to bring Tywin’s head to him before telling his pyromancer to burn them all. Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds.”  
Tyrion looked at Varys in horror. “Did that really happen?”  
Varys’ eyes were shut tight against the memories of that day. “Yes,” he whispered. A single tear leaked from his eye and rolled down his cheek.  
Brienne was shaking with the effort to control her own emotions. “Jaime Lannister did break his oath. He did kill the rightful king of Westeros. He did slay your father.”  
“But I think it would have been a much larger crime to allow a man like that to continue ruling over other people’s lives. He was dangerous. To everyone.” Brienne looked down and swallowed hard.  
Daenerys felt her heart break for her father. She thought about Jaime Lannister. And then she thought about Jon. He would’ve done the same thing, knowing what it would cost him, how it would change him and his entire life. Jon wasn’t here, but his sister was.  
“Sansa, what say you?” Daenerys asked softly.  
Sansa’s face was carved stone. “I trust Brienne with my life. I’ve never known her to so much as bend the truth, even when it would spare her pain or humiliation. She is the most honest person I know.”  
Daenerys turned away in thought. She turned back. A roomful of faces stared back at her. _Power has its drawbacks_ , she thought.  
“Grey Worm, would you please escort Ser Jaime to this room?”  
Grey Worm left the room with a bow.  
No more than five minutes had passed when Ser Jaime entered the room, followed by Grey Worm... and Bran.  
Daenerys smiled sadly at Ser Jaime. “You and I have never met. The only things I know about you are second hand stories. Stories cannot always be believed, especially if the teller has an agenda.”  
Against the wall, Brienne made a quiet sound of distress.  
“I would like to apologize to you, Ser Jaime, on behalf of my father.” She took a deep breath. “I believe you acted with honor when you killed the Mad King. I believe you saved thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of lives that terrible day. Sometimes there are no good choices. Sometimes you have to break your heart, or your oath, to save your honor.”  
Daenerys Stormborn the Dragon Queen leaned back in her chair. “I welcome you and your troops. We need every soldier in the battle ahead.”  
A collective sigh was released. Tyrion looked like he was ready to faint, and Varys had been holding his arm to keep him in his seat.  
Jaime looked like he couldn’t quite believe his fate. “I thank you, your grace.”  
“Honestly,” she went on, looking around the room, “none of us expected Cersei to make good on her word. She does know you’re here, doesn’t she?”  
Jaime let out a strained laugh. No one else looked amused. “I am here on her orders, your grace.”  
The trap was sprung. “You mean to tell me she is currently undefended?”  
Everyone froze.  
“She is not... undefended,” Jaime conceded slowly.  
“She has, what? The Queen’s Guard, and a garrison of soldiers?”  
Jaime was stuck. He had just been granted a welcome by an enemy queen, and if he lied to her, his life would be forfeit. Daenerys knew it, Jaime knew it, the small council knew it. In a flash of insight, he realized that Cersei must have known it as well. Did his sister trust him to lie for her? Or did she want the enemy to know how well defended she was?  
Jaime was not a good liar. He had been able to deflect things he didn’t want to say and escape the attention of people who did not want to know them, like Tywin had ignored the signs of Jaime’s affair with his sister. But this eagle-eyed woman would know if he lied, he was sure of it. And if she didn’t know, she would find out. Jaime looked around the room. Varys, Ser Jorah, Sansa fucking Stark. Daenerys would know. And he would burn.  
“Cersei hired the Golden Company, a sellsword company from Braavos. There are twenty thousand of them.”  
Daenerys leaned forward. “And?”  
Jaime swallowed past the lump in his throat. “And Euron Greyjoy’s fleet.”  
The Queen sat back, satisfied. “Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Jaime.” He was shown from the room by an Unsullied soldier.  
“How...?” Varys asked.  
Daenerys pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and tossed it onto the table. “Bran gave me this yesterday.” Tyrion picked it up. There were two sigils drawn on it: A pile of skulls and a red-eyed kraken.

 

### The Queen’s Suite

Grey Worm escorted Daenerys and Missandei to the Queen’s Suite after the meeting. He had two soldiers sweep the rooms before they went in, and then stand guard outside it.  
The ladies dropped into the chairs near the fire. Missandei knew her queen was elated at the victory, but there was so much more risk now.  
In the privacy of her suite, Daenerys preferred to speak Valyrian to her two closest friends. “How did it go?”  
Grey Worm and Missandei exchanged a glance. He spoke first. “We need to be even more vigilant against assassination now.”  
Daenerys was a little amused. She swept her hand at the door. “Are we not vigilant now?”  
Missandei wasn’t smiling. “We need to start checking your food for poison. And I don’t think you should be walking alone at all.”  
Grey Worm nodded. “I want both of you to be armed at all times.” He handed each of them a small knife in a leather sheath. “It’s designed to be worn under your clothes,” he explained. “Special slits in your dresses will make the knife accessible at all times.” He helped Missandei attach and buckle the sheath. “Do not tell anyone about them.”  
Missandei looked at Daenerys, her honey brown eyes wide with urgency. “My queen. We will not let anything happen to you, but you must take this seriously.”  
Chastened, Daenerys allowed Grey Worm to help her with her own sheath. Missandei sat down and began altering the Queen’s dresses.  
Jon came in the room with a knock and a quiet word with the guards at the door. They switched back to the common tongue. Daenerys was happy to see him, and showed him her new knife thinking he would tease her about being overly cautious.  
“Good,” he said bluntly. “I don’t trust those Lannister bastards not to try something.” He and Grey Worm shared a look of grim understanding.  
Daenerys asked him, “Where were you earlier? We have had quite the exciting day.”  
Jon laughed, his rough voice warming with affection. “Aye, I heard you put Jaime Lannister over a barrel.”  
“Your brother Bran was quite helpful. I shall give him many thanks.”  
Missandei finished the first gown. She and the queen stepped behind a privacy screen as they adjusted the hidden sheath and then Missandei helped Daenerys into the newly altered dress.  
“Jon,” Daenery called. “Should we plan to fly recon this afternoon?”  
“That is a good idea,” Grey Worm decided on their behalf. Quietly to Jon, he said, “You are never to let her out of your sight.”  
Jon nodded in grave agreement.

 

### The Forge

The smiths were hard at work. Knowing they had very little time to arm every fighter with at least one weapon made of dragonglass, the forge was running day and night.  
Gendry was covered in sweat and streaked with soot, when Arya slipped into the forge with a new delivery of dragonglass. She admired his muscles rippling as he shaped the white-hot material with a hammer.  
He thrust the cleaver into a bucket of cold water and steam filled the air. A prickle on the back of his neck told him he was being watched. He glanced up and spotted Arya looking at him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He held her gaze, knowing how he looked.  
Feeling bold, she lifted one eyebrow suggestively.  
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gendry called to her.  
“Did you make my weapon yet?” She called back, walking down the steps.  
“Just as soon as I’m done making a few... thousand of these,” he answered, lifting up the heavy cleaver he was almost finished with. She took it and inspected it as they walked back to his bench.  
“You should make mine first. And make sure it’s stronger than this,” she said, derisively.    
He yanked the cleaver out of her hands and slammed it into his workbench, embedding it in the wood. “It’s strong enough.” He walked away annoyed, and she appreciated the view.    
Perhaps it was time to show him why she required a special weapon. He stopped in front of a table piled high with small, thin dragonglass knives. _Perfect_ , she thought.  
“It’s going to be safer down in the crypts, you know,” Gendry told her.  
She leaned on the wall. “Are you going to be down in the crypt?”  
“No, bu-”  
“But you’re a fighter.”  
“I’ve done my share.” He hated he felt self conscious in front of her.  
Arya was so curious to find out what the White Walkers were like, but she had learned that the best way to get information from people wasn’t to simply ask, but to make them think they needed to convince you.  
Her expression was well-practiced incredulity. “You’ve fought them?”  
He wouldn’t look at her. “I did. Some of them.”  
“How many?”  
“A few. That was enough.” He didn’t want to think about what was coming their way. He didn’t want her anywhere near them.  
Arya kept pressing. “What are they like?”  
“Bad.” He looked at her, his voice softer. “Really bad.”  
She was taken aback by his fear, but that wasn’t nearly enough information.  
“‘Really bad’?” She pushed off from the wall and walked around to the other side of the table so he had no choice but to face her. “Even a smith’s apprentice can do better than ‘really bad.’”  
He glared at her.  
“What do they look like? What do they smell like? How do they move? How hard are they to kill?”  
He slammed his hands flat on the table. “Look, I know you want to fight, and I know you’re not scared of rapers or murderers... But this is different. This is... This is Death. You want to know what they’re like? Death. That’s what they’re like.”  
She considered his words, and picked up a knife. “I know Death.” She threw the knife with her left hand. It embedded in the wooden wall.  
Gendry gasped.  
She picked up a second knife. “He’s got many faces.” The second knife found a home less than an inch from the first.  
Gendry turned to her in shock.  
Arya picked up a third. “I look forward to seeing this one.” The knife whistled through the air and bit into the wood near its fellows.  
Gendry laughed in disbelief, staring at the knives grouped tightly on the wall.  
Arya walked back around the table, passing close to him. “My weapon?” she challenged.  
Nodding smartly, he said, “I’ll get right on it.”

 

### The Godswood

A newly-pardoned Jaime Lannister crunched his way across the snow crust to where Bran was sitting in his clever chair, woolen blankets covering his legs. He had every intention of demanding an answer from Bran, but as he stood over the man he had tried to kill as a boy, he was overcome with shame and despair.  
“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” Jaime began.  
Bran turned his head and Jaime got the impression of a large owl.  
“You weren’t sorry then. You were protecting your family.”  
Jaime moved to be in front of Bran so the younger man didn’t have to strain his neck. “I’m not that person anymore.”  
“You still would be, if you hadn’t pushed me out of that window.” Silently he thought, _And I would still be Brandon Stark_.  
“You’re not angry at me?” Jaime asked. Bran was being too calm, too forgiving. A Lannister would spill blood in the streets over a perceived slight, nevermind attempted murder.  
“I’m not angry at anyone.”  
“Why didn’t you tell them?”  
Bran’s faraway look cleared, and he fixed Jaime with a look. “You won’t be able to help us in this fight if I left them murder you first.”  
Jaime nodded, still confused. He thought about Cersei, and was ashamed to ask, but he did anyway. “What about afterwards?”  
Bran contemplated him for a moment. “If we don’t work together, there won’t be an ‘afterwards.’”


	5. Make Do, Make Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations continue. Sansa asks for a favor. Old friends return.

### On the Field

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen, trudged through the field to where the Lannister forces had made camp. His eyes skimmed over the traps and weapons he had had a close hand in designing, although some of these Northmen were as devious and twisted as Southerners. He was worried about war, and embarrassed that he wasn’t a good fighter, and angry at his brother for being here.  
He was actually surprised at how angry he was, and when Jaime found him and fell into step with his as if this were old times, Tyrion balled up his fist and punched Jaime as high as he could reach. Which happened to be Jaime’s cock.  
Jaime doubled over, gasped and wheezing, and Tyrion stood over him, chest heaving and hands still fisted.  
“You moron! You absolute cock!” he hissed at his brother.  
Jaime slid down to the snow and looked up at his furious little brother. “It’s good to see you, too.”  
Tyrion kicked him.  
“I surrender!” Jaime laughed, his hands up. “Please, no more! I beg of you!”  
Less angry, but still fuming, Tyrion slapped his brother’s hands. “What if the queen had killed you? Do you ever think?”  
Jaime stopped to consider this. “If she had, it would have certainly been a part of Cersei’s plan.”  
Tyrion snapped, “Cersei’s a cock, too.”  
They stared at each other for a moment before snorting with laughter.  
“Oh, gods,” Jaime wiped his eyes, “It’s true.”  
Tyrion helped Jaime to his feet and they embraced.  
“My reputation of not being one of history’s great minds is certainly intact.” Jaime rolled his eyes at himself. “Your queen played me for the fool I am.”  
“And rightly so,” Tyrion nodded pompously, doing such a good impression of their father that they both started giggling again.  
They walked a little farther.  
“So.” Tyrion’s voice held no emotion. “We’re going to die... at Winterfell. At least Cersei won’t be able to kill me. I’ll feel a small amount of pleasure from denying her that satisfaction... while I’m being torn apart by dead men.”  
Jaime spotted a familiar figure and walked away from his brother, who wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.  
“Maybe,” mused Tyrion, “after I’m dead I’ll march down to King’s Landing and rip her apart.” He expected a reaction from his brother, and when he didn’t get one, he looked around and realized Jaime had wandered off.  
“An absolute cock,” he groused to himself, continuing his walk alone.

Jaime noted the collapsing bridges over the wide, dragonglass-lined trenches. He saw hints of his brother’s brilliant mind all over Winterfell. He smiled, proud of Tyrion. Jaime approached a sparring circle. Poddrick Payne was teaching a young Northern lad a thing or two under his mentor’s approving eye.  
Jaime marched up beside her.  
She tensed. “Ser Jaime.”  
He bowed his head. “Lady Brienne.”  
They watched Pod disarm a second opponent.  
“He’s come a long way,” Jaime remarked.  
Brienne squinted. “He’s alright. Still has a lot to learn.” She continued her circuit, observing the training and preparation of her soldiers.  
Jaime caught her up. “I’m sure you’ll teach him.”  
She frowned at him but said nothing.  
“I’m told you’re commanding the left flank,” he went on, nearly jogging to keep up with her powerful strides.  
“I am. It’s... it’s good ground. The rise,” she pointed, “should give us some advantage. If we can keep a tight formation, we might be able to beat them back.”  
“Yes,” he gasped, “I think you’re right.”  
She stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into her, her eyes narrowed in angry suspicion. “What are you doing?”  
“What?”  
“I think you know.”  
Jaime turned to her, confused. “I truly don’t.”  
“We have never had a conversation last this long without you insulting me, not once,” she snarled.  
“You want me to insult you?” he asked, incredulously.  
“No!” Brienne shouted.  
“Good!” he shouted back.  
He sighed. “I came to talk to you because...” He broke off, unsure of how to how to thank someone for saving his life. “I don’t know exactly what you told the queen, but I think it had something to do with what I told you... that time... in the baths.”  
Brienne rolled her eyes and made a disgusted sound.  
“And!” he shouted, before clearing his throat and speaking in a lower voice, “and I wanted to tell you my thanks, and that if my brother is to be believed, you probably saved my life, not for the first time.”  
She stared at him.  
“I owe you my life, Lady Brienne. If there’s anything you ever need from me, don’t hesitate to ask.”  
Brienne nodded her head slowly, aware of the magnitude of the favor being offered. Up to and including a life. Her voice thick, she said, “I better get back.”  
Jaime watched her leave. Besides his brother, Brienne of Tarth was the best friend he had, and both of them would be his enemy again in a matter of days. _Life is truly odd_ , he thought.

 

### The Queen’s Suite

Sansa Stark approached the Queen’s Suite with some trepidation. She nodded to the Unsullied guards posted outside, and one of them knocked on the door. He entered the room to get permission, and came out a moment later. He held the door for Sansa.  
Daenerys was sitting in a chair by the fire, discussing strategy with Ser Jorah Mormont. They stopped talking and both of them smiled at her.  
Sansa clasped her hands behind her back. “Your grace, I was hoping I could speak to you. Alone.”  
Ser Jorah stood up. “Until next time, Khaleesi.”  
Daenerys smiled at the woman she hoped would one day be her sister though marriage. “Please, Lady Sansa. Join me.”  
Sansa perched delicately in the chair Ser Jorah had just vacated. “Thank you, for taking the time.”  
“Of course. I’ve been hoping for a chance to get to know you better.”  
Sansa wondered if her face would permanently turn to stone if she never smiled again. “I didn’t know you wanted to know any of us. I thought you just wanted to come into our land and begin to rule.”  
Daenerys flashed a razor-edged smile. “That was the initial plan, certainly. It’s gotten a bit more...” she searched for the right word.  
“Complicated?” Sansa offered.  
“Mmm,” Daenerys nodded, eyes twinkling. “You Northerners have a unique charm. I’ve never known a people like yours.”  
The stone cracked, and Sansa smiled. “I didn’t thank you when you first arrived. That was a mistake. You have shown much care for my people, and you are fighting this war against the dead half a world away from where you want to be. I’m at a loss for words, your grace.”  
Daenerys leaned forward, putting her hand on Sansa’s. “Is that why you’re here? To say thank you?”  
Caught and embarrassed, Sansa slid her hands back into her lap. “No.”  
Daenerys smiled. “I thought not.”  
“What happens afterwards? Assuming we all survive, of course. We defeat the dead, we destroy Cercei,” Sansa tilted her head. “What happens then?”  
The Queen thought she had an idea where this was going, but decided to play along. “I take the Iron Throne.”  
Each word fell like flint. “What about the North? It was taken from us. And we took it back. And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”  
From the set of the other woman’s body, Daenerys surmised that Sansa assumed she would be angry. But it was a fair question, and in the same situation, Daenerys knew she too would be... flinty.  
The Queen patted Lady Stark’s hand. “I thank you for bringing the needs and wishes of the North to my attention. I will give the matter some thought, but I will not be ready to give a decision on this serious concern until after the war is won and I am on the Throne. Until then, what are my words but pretty promises?”  
Somewhat appeased, Sansa relaxed. “I thank you for taking the time to meet with me, your grace.”  
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Maester Wolkan entered. “My apologies, your grace, Lady Stark.”

 

### The Great Hall

Maester Wolkan led the ladies into the Great Hall, where Sansa was shocked to see Theon Greyjoy and a number of Ironborn men. Torn between his heart and his duty, Theon stepped forward and knelt before the queen.  
He rose. “My Queen.”  
Alarmed, Daenerys asked, “Your sister?”  
Theon nodded. “Alive, your grace. She only has a few ships, and she’s sailing to the Iron Islands to take them back in your name.”  
“Why aren’t you with her?”  
He cast a slow look at Sansa, standing perfectly still with her hands clasped behind her back. “I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.”  
Sansa’s eyes filled with tears as her control broke. She closed the gap between them and threw her arms around her cousin, friend, captor, brother.

 

### The Courtyard

The soup line was yards long, with the children at the front. Ser Davos Seaworth ladled as fast as he dared, for every drop of hot soup was precious.  
A desperate farmer offered up his bowl. “M’lord, we’re not soldiers.”  
Davos poured soup into his bowl as if to baptize him. “You are now.”  
The man just looked at him in despair.  
Ser Davos put the ladle down. “Look, I made it through most of my years without ever gettin’ near a fight. But then I survived the Battle of the Blackwater, and the Battle of the Bastards which was right outside these walls. If I could live through all that, you can live through this.”  
The man still stared.  
Davos raised his voice. “They’ll outfit you with weapons at the forge, right that way.” He pointed.  
The man nodded at the dismissal.  
_Poor bastard_ , Davos thought. _He’ll be lucky to survive_ .  
Gilly walked by, telling some women about the Crypt. “When the time comes, you’ll be down in the crypt. It’s the safest place to be. They’re right through that archway there.”  
The women gave their thanks.  
From behind him, a small voice asked Ser Davos, “Which way should I go?”  
He turned and his heart broke. The child was small, probably underfed, but there was a fire and fierceness that burned in her, he could see that. A burn scar marred her right cheek, and he was reminded of Shireen. She was a fighter, and he couldn’t dismiss her because of her size, her age, or her gender. “Which way do you want’a go?”  
The child held out her bowl to him and considered this. “All the children will be going below when the time comes, but both me brothers were soldiers.”  
Gilly came nearer.  
“I want to fight too.” Her dark eyes fixed on his, and he would have given anything to know, to be assured by the gods themselves, that this child would grow up into the fierce warrior he could see in her.  
Davos took her soup bowl, and Gilly approached the girl. “That’s good to hear,” Gilly said, perching on the platform. “I’m going to be in the crypt with my son and I’d feel a lot better with you down there to protect us.”  
Davos said a prayer of blessing for Gilly. “I’m sure a lot of people would.” He handed the girl’s bowl to Gilly, who gave it to the child. The fierce eyes shone for him, and she smiled as she took her bowl. “I’ll right. I’ll defend the crypt then.”  
The two adults watched her walk away and shared a look of thanks, care, and hope for survival. Gilly smiled faintly.  
The gate’s horn sounded.

Jon heard the horn as he was heading to meet Daenerys for reconnaissance.  
A guard shouted, “Open the gate.”  
A stable hand ran past Jon Snow to take the horses for the exhausted man. With a shock, Jon realized the man was Eddison Tollett, and he jogged to greet his Brother with a hug. Before he could reach him, he was tackled by a red blur with the mass of a bear.  
“Hruh!”  
Jon couldn’t help laugh.  
Tormund Giantsbane shook him slightly. “Heh heh heh. My little Crow.”  
“I thought we’d lost you,” Jon admitted, his breath a white cloud in the frigid air.  
Tormund shrugged. “Almost.”  
Sam had been drawn from his study by the horn and approached the men, hugging Eddison. He had been giving Jon a wide berth side since their last conversation.  
The King in the North hugged his Brother, and shook Beric Dondarrian’s hand. “How did you get here?”  
Beric answered. “We rode through Wolfswood. Last Hearth wasn’t safe.”  
“The Umbers never made it here,” Jon sighed. “I guess they’re fighting for the Night King now.”  
Tormund nodded. “Whoever isn’t here is with them.”  
“How long do we have?”  
Tormund looked grim. “Before the sun comes up tomorrow.”  
Jon looked at each man. His gaze lingered on Sam, who shifted uncomfortably.  
Tormund looked around. “The Big Woman still here?”

Daenerys stepped into the courtyard, dressed for flight, Grey Worm and Missandei on either side. Jon approached her. “They’re coming.”  
Grey Worm bowed and he and Missandei left to marshal the Unsullied and Dothraki forces per the battle plan.  
The Queen linked her arm with her King. “Then let us go see how many they have.”


	6. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes are made, and gifts are given.

### In the Sky

Daenerys spoke to Ser Jorah, Tyrion, and Varys before she and Jon left, giving each of them their orders. Ser Jorah was the only fighter among them, and the other two were ordered to be down in the crypt.  
“But my Queen-” Tyrion started to argue.  
She turned to him with burning eyes. “I need you to live, Tyrion. That is more crucial than your ego.” She waved a hand at the soldiers running and getting into formations. “If there are survivors, they will owe their lives to your ingenuity. That is more important than the man next to them swinging a sword.”  
He lowered his head in obedience, and he followed Varys away.

Soaring over the forests and cliffs of the North, Jon felt free. He felt like he belonged somewhere, to someone who loved him and didn’t ask him for anything that she wasn’t willing to give. He had reconciled his feelings on the long ride yesterday. He was angry at Ned for lying, but grateful to Ned for saving his life and raising him as a beloved son. He was hurt that Catelyn had taken out her shame and anger on him, hurt that she couldn’t find it in herself to love him anyway and be a mother to him. He mourned the parents he had never known, and the enormous burden they had placed on him. He dreaded telling the truth, his truth, to the woman he loved in case she reacted with anger or disgust. He had galloped over the lands of his ancestry, chanting the two names he carried in his head. _Jon Snow. Aegon Targaryen. Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen._ Until the two names became tangled up in his head. _Jon Targaryen. Aegon Snow._ Until neither of them felt right. Until both of them felt right. He had stopped then, letting the horse rest and drink water from a stream. He had been miles away when he heard the horn blow at the gate.  
He had ridden back slowly, wishing with all his heart that the horse beneath him had been a dragon. And that’s when he knew without a doubt that if she would have him, he wanted to marry her and make her the Queen of Westeros. She was already the queen of his heart.

Daenerys didn’t allow the dragons to get anywhere near the advancing army, but she and Jon both saw the wight corps moving, like a blight on the land, an advancing shadow. She signalled to Jon to land on a snowy outcrop.  
She sniffed, the cold air making her nose run. “Looks like Tormund was right. They’ll be on us before sunrise.” She was pleased and surprised when he closed the distance between them just to hold her close. Daenerys closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him. Clean snow, warm skin, a hint of musk she found intoxicating.  
“Your sister came to see me today,” she said, her words muffled against his shoulder.  
“Which one? The scary one, or the one with a sword?”  
She laughed. “Sansa. She’s quite fierce. I like her.”  
He leaned back a little so he could see her face. “What did she want?”  
“Oh, not much. Just a Free and Sovereign North.”  
His face twitched. “Oh, is that all?”  
Daenerys laughed. “I actually was quite pleased that she would be so fearless. She would make an excellent queen.” She pointed her finger at Jon threateningly. “You will not repeat that, Jon Snow. I have no intention of being the Queen of the One Kingdom.”  
He knelt before her and placed his gloved hand over his heart. “You have my word, on my honor as a-” He stopped, the word ‘bastard’ on his lips.  
Daenerys didn’t notice. “Stand up, you fool. We need to get back.” She kissed him deeply to soften her words, and then they raced back to Drogon and Rhaegal, who took them unerringly home.

 

### On the Field

When they got back, cheeks pink and eyes streaming from the wind, Daenarys asked to observe the training. The tall warrior was speaking to her squire when a large wildling bounded up to them and shouted something before laughing uproariously. The warrior stalked away in disgust. She stomped over to a handsome knight. Every once in a while, the warrior shot a dirty look at the wildling who was still talking to her squire.  
Daenarys touched Jon’s arm and indicated that she was going to walk for a while, leaving him to sort out a matter Davos had brought to him. The Queen walked slowly through the soldiers, knights, lords, and commoners. She decided that she liked watching Lords rub elbows with peasants. It was all part of breaking the wheel.  
Brienne turned around and saw her. She stammered out, “Your grace.”  
“Brienne! I wondered if I might have a word?” Brienne fell into step with the Queen as they walked carefully through the soldiers getting ready for the battle. Daenarys asked about the wildling man.  
Brienne snapped, “Am I only interesting for my personal affairs?” Regret immediately colored her face and she tried to apologize.  
Daenarys stopped her. “Not at all. I’ve heard many stories about you already. I know you are one of the fiercest warriors we have in this battle, and a loyal friend to House Stark. I’m grateful that you’re here, getting these unruly men into shape.” Brienne’s face glowed red.  
“Fighting requires focus, and common wisdom says that you must turn all your thoughts to the battle ahead. Of course, common wisdom doesn’t tell us _how._ ” The queen turned and looked up into the face of a fighter, who at this moment looked more like a confused young girl. “I think the first battle you need to confront is the battle within yourself.”  
“I have no battle within myself,” Brienne replied tartly. “I know who I want.” Their eyes drifted across the field to Jaime Lannister.  
Quietly, Daenarys said, “He will always love her. And she will always love him.”  
Brienne’s teeth clenched. “Maybe I have a chance.”  
“Tell me about the wildling.”  
“He’s a wildling!” Brienne hissed. “They aren’t... like...” At a complete loss, she waved her arms at herself, the soldiers, Daenarys. “When he has manners at all, they’re the roughest you’ve ever seen.”  
“You haven’t seen the Dothraki eat dinner,” Daenerys pointed out tartly.  
“He says crude things.”  
“It’s my understanding that the wildlings are a very forthright people.”  
“He... makes me uncomfortable.” Brienne turned away. When she turned back, the confused look was there once more.  
Daenerys had been a virgin once. It had been confusing and frightening, and Daenerys had only Dothraki handmaids to help her through it, women from a different culture who spoke a different language. She and Brienne had grown up similarly, more or less.  
“Only you know what you need, Brienne. But if you will take some advice from a woman who has loved and been loved by some rough, crude, terrifying, wonderful men?”  
Brienne gave a perfunctory nod.  
“If you can find it in yourself to love him, you should choose the man that will always choose you.” Brienne looked troubled.  
“Thank you for speaking with me, Lady Brienne.” The Dragon Queen glided away.

Brienne walked away from the Queen, feeling childish and slightly dazed. The Dragon Queen had seen right into the heart of her conflict. Brienne didn’t like feeling vulnerable. It reminded her too much of her painful youth. She didn’t want to feel shame anymore, and she had turned away from a man because of what the ghosts of taunting youths might think of him. He was a storied fighter, and he made her feel... small. Delicate. And he clearly and loudly thought she was beautiful. Unless that was a lie; What if he had made it all up to shame her? No one thought she was beautiful. Then again, Daenarys was right. The wildlings were a forthright people.  
She was so lost in thought she never saw the man-shaped wall.  
They smashed into each other, and Brienne would have been dusting snow off her behind if he hadn’t caught her by the shoulders and set her back on her feet.  
He was rough with her. He was rough with everyone.  
She unclenched her jaw. “Tormund, would you... like to spar with me?”  
Tormund smiled slowly, lust in his eyes. But there was also hope and a boyish sweetness she had been firmly ignoring until now. They each grabbed a wooden sword.  
Facing off with him across the circle, Brienne was determined to leave him with more than a few bruises.

Jon left Ser Davos when he heard the commotion. It didn’t sound like a real brawl, since the bystanders were laughing and cheering. He looked around. Where was Brienne? Why hadn’t she broken up the fight already?  
Swearing, he pushed through the crowd of men thirty deep before he got to the circle at the center. And there he saw one of his commanders clock another right in the jaw. The crowd howled as blood sprayed the snow.  
“Lady Brienne of Tarth! Tormund Giantsbane!” Jon bellowed. He saw faces he recognized and shoved Poddrick and Eddison at them. They each grabbed one of the combatants.  
Chest heaving, Brienne snarled at him and yanked her arm away from Pod. Her face was bruised and she seemed to be favoring her ribs. Tormund looked much worse, with all the blood around his mouth. He grinned at Jon, who wanted to smack him.  
“Now?” He shouted. “Here? On the eve of our stand against the army of the dead?” He turned to the crowd. “Go back to your camps and wait for instructions. Now!” The soldiers dispersed quickly.  
He turned back to the two fighters. “You couldn’t save it for the war we’re about to fight?” He turned away and shouted over his shoulder, “Go get cleaned up. I expect you both in the War Room in two hours.”

At the closest horse trough, Brienne scooped out a bucket of water and used it to clean the blood off her knuckles. Punching that smirking face had been deeply satisfying.  
“Oh, no!” she moaned, seeing her new leather armor was ripped. “Oh, bugger!”  
“What’s wrong?” A familiar and unwelcome voice rumbled. “Did you realize you forgot to kick me in the crotch?”  
She rolled her eyes and refused to answer him. He splashed a rag in the bucket and swiped it at his face. Her lip curled when she saw how dirty it was. He was just getting bloody water all over himself. “Give me that!” she snapped.  
Meekly, he handed over the rag. She wrung it out the best she could and cleaned his mouth. When he didn’t say anything or bitch about her rough treatment, her hands gentled.  
“No, I realized that I tore my leather, and I don’t know how to fix it.”  
He glanced at her sleeve. “That’s easy enough. I could fix it for you... unless you object to a ‘wildling’ touching your precious armor.” The words meant to tease, but she heard him use the word he considered an insult, and saw him brace for another rejection.  
“If you can fix it, I don’t object.” She rinsed the rag and handed it back to him, cleaner than it had started. She started taking off her gardbrace.  
“You know, I’ve known some damn good fighters. I’ve been hit in the face a lot.”  
“I don’t doubt it.”  
He grinned. “I’ve never been punched in the mouth quite like that, Brienne of Tarth. You should be proud!”  
She stared at him. “You think I should be proud because I hit you harder than anyone has before?” He was out of his mind.  
“Aye. If you were from my clan, you’d be the leader.”  
Her fingers slipped off the laces, and she accidentally tangled them. “Damn!”  
His hands were there a moment later, deftly working the snarl loose. She wouldn’t have expected such a large man to have such nimble fingers. He slid the leather off her arm and walked away to his camp. She rolled her sleeve to cover her bare skin and strode after him.

 

### The Castle

Missandei felt alone, as though she hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. As she exited the stuffy castle rooms for the chilly Northern afternoon, she spotted two small girls sitting on the wall eating bread. Missandei smiled at them. “Hello.”  
The girls looked at her with the same distrust she saw on their parents’ faces. They slid off the wall and scurried away. Missandei took a breath to calm herself. They weren’t reacting to her skin color, she told herself. Northerners just don’t trust outsiders, and children who nick bread don’t want to get caught and scolded for it. But the rejection still stung.  
Grey Worm spotted her and moved toward her in that Unsullied way that wasted no energy. The offended look on his face told her that he had seen the children slight her.  
“When Daenerys takes her throne, we won’t need to stay here. I am loyal to my queen. I will fight for her until her enemies are defeated. But when the war is over, and she has won...” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Do you want to grow old in this place? Is there nothing else you want to do? Nothing else you want to see?”  
Missandei looked around. Everything here was grey. The sky was grey, the ground was grey, the people were grey. She thought of home and smiled faintly. “Naath. I’d like to see the beaches again.”  
Grey Worm smiled at her, love filling his dark eyes. “Then I will take you there.”  
Missandei shook her head. “My people are peaceful. We cannot protect ourselves.”  
Grey Worm said, “My people are not peaceful. We will protect you.”  
No longer lonely, Missandei smiled.

 

### The Great Hall

There was enough time to have a simple dinner before the meeting of the Lords and Ladies. Everyone present was subdued, most staring at their plates. The food was little different that what the soldiers in the fields or the women and children in the Lesser Hall were being served. Hearty, warm, and filling. The last meal before a long night descended on them all.  
Daenerys ate slowly, but found her appetite diminished. She looked around the room and saw that most people were barely picking at their food, and very few were talking to their neighbors. Something needed to change in the room. They couldn’t go to war half-starved and without hope.  
Brienne of Tarth stood then, and made her way to the door.  
“Lady Brienne!” The queen called.  
Brienne was startled. She just wanted a quiet moment to look over her weapons and gather her thoughts before anyone needed her. Instead, she found herself in the front of the room with all eyes on her.  
“As most of you know, I wasn’t raised in Westeros. After my parents were killed, I was raised in hiding in different parts of Essos. I’ve seen many strange and wonderful things.”  
“I’m sure you have, your grace.” Brienne was baffled as to what this had to do with her.  
Daenerys leaned forward. “But in all my travels, of all the strange things I have seen, I have seen nothing that can answer for why you are not a knight.”  
Silence greeted this pronouncement, and the assembled nobles and advisors looked at each other nonplussed.  
“Uh, women can’t be knights,” Brienne explained.  
The queen tipped her head. “Why not?”  
“Tradition,” Brienne answered immediately.  
From the back of the room, an unmistakable voice rumbled, “Fuck tradition.”  
The tension melted as everyone laughed from the shock of anyone, even a wildling, using that language in front of their queen.  
The Dragon Queen didn’t laugh, but amusement sparkled in her eyes as Brienne’s face colored. “I believe the monarch has the right to decide who becomes a knight?” She verified this with a look at Sansa, who nodded. “Excellent.” The Queen stood and came around to the front of the table where Brienne was standing in shock. “Please kneel, Lady Brienne.”  
Jon came around to where the women were standing and quietly handed Longclaw to his queen.  
Brienne knelt slowly, her eyes fixed on the woman in silver.  
Daenerys lifted the heavy sword and placed it gently on Brienne’s left shoulder. “In the name of The Warrior, I charge you to be brave.” She lifted the sword to the other shoulder. “In the name of The Father, I charge you to be just.” She placed the sword back to the first shoulder. “In the name of The Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” The sword came to a rest at her side. “Arise, Brienne of Tarth. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”  
Ser Brienne’s eyes were filled with tears. Cheers broke out all around the room, the very loudest of all coming from the wild man standing in the back. She looked out over all the faces smiling at her, hardly able to believe what had just happened.  
Tyrion stood on his chair to be seen over the table and lifted his goblet. “Ser Brienne of Tarth!” The assembled lords and ladies stood and toasted her. Over all of their heads, she could see Tormund’s red hair and his eyes shining just for her. Jaime’s eyes didn’t shine like that for her, she thought with a twinge of sadness. But she was filled with the certainty that the Seven Kingdom’s First Woman Knight simply could not die less than twenty-four hours after receiving such an honor.  
_I suppose I had better live, then._

 

 

### The Crypt

After dinner, Ser Davos caught Samwell in the hallway. “I have something for Jon. Can you take it to him?”  
Sam wanted to say no, but Davos outranked him. So he accepted the large package and went to Jon’s quarters.  
Knocking on the door, Sam felt himself sweating. _It’s just Jon_ , he thought. _Jon is my Brother_.  
Jon opened the door, and stared at Sam for a moment. He finally stepped back, allowing Sam to enter the room.  
“I brought you something from Ser Davos,” Sam said, trying to sound cheerful. He held up the bundle, and Jon’s eyes brightened.  
“I’ll just, uh...” Sam faltered. He turned and headed back to the door.  
“Sam.” Jon stopped him. “I’m sorry for shouting at you. It was a lot to process all at once.”  
Understanding touched the other man’s eyes. “Look, Jon. I know marrying your family isn’t very common, but marrying your own cousin isn’t exactly unheard of, even in the North.”  
Jon was taken aback. “How did you know I want to marry her?”  
Sam snorted. “I do have eyes, you know.”  
Jon clapped his Brother on the shoulder, and made a decision. “Can you ask Daenerys to meet me in the crypt before the women and children are sent down?”

Jon was standing in front of the statue of Lyanna Stark when Daenerys found him. He smiled at her and got down on his knees to unwrap the sackcloth.  
“What do you have there?” she asked, intrigued.  
“Saddles.” His eyes were shining.  
She frowned at him, uncomprehending.  
“Saddles. For the dragons.”  
Her mouth fell open.  
“Look,” he said, excited. “Pouches for food and water skin storage on long journeys, or long battles. The reins attach to their fins so you won’t slip off if you’re wearing gloves. The seat itself has a bit more padding than the dragons do...” He trailed off.  
Daenerys was crying.  
“What’s wrong?” He panicked. Maybe she preferred to ride bareback? Had he insulted her somehow? What-  
She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him harder than she ever had before. He tasted the salt of her tears along with the sweetness of her mouth.  
She pulled away. “Who made these?”  
“The Dothraki, from my designs. Davos helped.”  
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “This is the second best gift I’ve ever gotten.”  
Just the littlest bit insulted, he asked, “What was the first?”  
She laughed through her tears. “Dragon eggs.”  
He wiped her face. “I wanted to give you a piece of happiness before I tell you something.”  
She saw the worry in his eyes. “You can tell me anything.”  
He pointed to the statue above them. “This is Lyanna Stark.”  
She paled in recognition of that name. “My brother Rhaegar.” She shook her head. “Everyone told me he was decent and kind. He liked to sing. Gave money to poor children.” She turned to look fully at the rough statue of Lyanna Stark. “And he raped her.”  
“He didn’t.” Jon’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “He loved her.” He turned to Daenerys and took her hands. “They were married in secret. After Rhaegar fell at The Trident, she had a son.”  
Her face was frozen.  
“Robert would’ve murdered the baby if he ever found out, and Lyanna knew it. So the last thing she did, as she bled to death on her birthing bed, was give the boy to her brother, Ned Stark, to raise as his bastard.  
“My name,” he finished, “My real name, is Aegon Targaryen.” He let go of her hands and pulled a leather diary from his pocket. “The Maester that married them kept a diary, in case you want proof.”  
She took a deep shuddering breath and pressed one hand to her mouth. She lowered it. “I wanted to believe that he was a good man. I’m so glad to know he treated her with respect.” She sniffed. “Why are you telling me this, Jon?”  
“Because I want to marry you, and I want you to know I'm worthy of you.”  
She started crying. “You are already worthy, regardless of your name.”  
“Then marry me as Jon Snow.”  
She pulled him close to her and kissed him with heat. When they broke apart, she said, “Yes.”  
Above their heads, the alarm bells rang.


	7. The God of Tits and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the preparations are done. Now they wait.
> 
> Smut warning!!

### On the Battlement

After dinner, Sandor took a bottle of ale up to the Battlement to drink alone. It was cold and dark, and he was pleased to have some damn privacy. He had left the Great Hall when that woman was being knighted. _Fuck knights_ , he thought, sitting with his back against the stone wall. _They’re all cunts anyway_ .  
The girl followed him out. He swallowed a large gulp of ale and turned away. Maybe if he ignored her, she would just fuck off.  
No such luck. She sat down next to him. He handed her the bottle. She took a big drink and handed it back.  
They sat in silence until he was annoyed. “You never used to shut up, and now you’re just sitting there like a mute.”  
She didn’t say anything.  
He rolled his eyes.  
Arya said, “Guess I’ve changed.” After a long pause, she asked, “What are you doing up here?”  
“What’s it look like?” He said crossly.  
“No, I mean what are you doing Up Here? You joined the Brotherhood, you went beyond the Wall with Jon, you’re here now. Why? When was the last time you fought for anyone but yourself?”  
Sandor turned to her, his voice raspier than normal from the cold. “I fought for you, di’n’t I?”  
She wasn’t sure how that made her feel. She didn’t understand this man at all.  
He took another drink as Beric Dondarrion joined them.  
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Sandor growled. “Might as well be at a bloody wedding.”  
Beric smiled at Sandor’s discomfort. He bowed to Arya. “My lady. It’s good to see you again.”  
Arya glared at him.  
“I’m sorry we parted the way we did.” His voice was rich and cultured.  
The Hound looked at her and jerked his head at Beric. “Was he on your list?”  
She looked meaningfully at Beric. “For a little while.”  
“That’s all right.” He sat down across from them. “The Lord of Light has brought us together all the same.” He looked over the wall to the black sky overhead. “This is His moment. When Lig-”  
“Thoros isn’t here anymore,” Sandor interrupted loudly, “so I hope you’re not about to give a sermon. Because if you are, the Lord of Light’s gonna wonder why He brought you back nineteen times just to watch you die when I chuck you over this fucking wall.”  
Beric chuckled and reached out for the ale.  
Sandor threw it at him.  
Arya realized something important and got up quickly.  
“Where are you going?” Sandor asked rudely.  
She turned around, lips twisted with distaste. “I’m not spending my final hours with you two miserable old shits.” Her footsteps receded, and the old men looked at each other and shrugged. Beric took a deep swallow and threw the bottle back to the Hound.

 

### The Lesser Hall

After dinner, Jaime and Tyrion found their way into the Lesser Hall to drink and contemplate the coming bloodshed.  
“I wish father were here,” Tyrion mused, staring into the fire.  
Jaime looked at him, completely taken aback. “What? Why?”  
“I would love to see the look on his face when he realized his two sons are about to die...  defending _Winterfell_ .”  
Jaime snorted. “That would be something to see.”  
Tyrion looked around the dark room, the shadows from the torches dancing over the walls. “I remember the first time we were here, the first time I saw this hall. You were a Golden Lion. I was a drunken whoremonger. It was all so simple.”  
Jaime shook his head. “It wasn’t so simple. I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend in the world... who was sleeping with his sister.”  
“I was speaking in relative terms,” Tyrion replied curtly.  
“So was I.” They looked at each other and started snickering. Jaime looked down. “Do you miss it?”  
“Of course I miss it,” Tyrion huffed.  
“Well,” his brother offered, “My Golden Lion days are done, but whoremongering is still an option for you.”  
The Hand sighed, thinking of Shay. “It’s not. Things would be easier if it were.” He lifted his goblet. “To the perils of self-betterment.”  
Jaime lifted his own. They drank deeply.  
The door opened and Ser Brienne and Pod walked in. “Oh,” Brienne said. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to-”  
“To contemplate your imminent death?” Tyrion guessed. “You’ve come to the right place.” He offered a cup to Poddrick, who grinned at him. “Do you want some of this piss? It’s not bad. It’s not good, either.”  
“Thank you, m’lord.” Pod took the cup.  
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Ser Brienne told him. “The battle might start at any moment.”  
Poddrick’s shoulders slumped. He looked so sad, she rolled her eyes. “A half cup.”  
He grinned and Tyrion filled his goblet generously, winking at the younger man.  
“And you?” Tyrion asked.  
“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.”  
Jaime called out, “Do you really think any of use are going to sleep tonight?” He dropped another chair next to the couple near the fire. “Join us.”  
Ser Brienne sighed. “Alright. Just a bit.”  
From the doorway, Davos asked, “So what do we have here?”  
“Ser Davos! Join us.” Tyrion shook the pitcher.  
“No, not for me, thanks.” He moved through the room and stopped with his backside to the fire. “I came here for this. “I figured I could wait to die freezing my arse off out there, or wait to die nice and warm in here.”  
Tormund followed him in and made his way to the empty chair near Brienne. He waited for her nod before sitting down. Ever since their fight, he had been a little quieter, a little more gentle in her presence. She appreciated that he was making an effort.  
The odd group stared into the crackling fire.  
“It’s strange, isn’t it,” Tyrion said, voicing a thought he hadn’t been able to shake for days, “almost everyone here has fought the Starks at one time or another, and here we are, in their castle, ready to defend it. Together.”  
The group nodded.  
“At least we’ll die with honor,” Brienne said.  
The Hand took a considering breath and said in a rush, “I think we might live.”  
Davos snorted, and they both began to laugh. It was infectious, and the room echoed with gallows amusement. Davos stood up. “I think I will have that drink.”  
“I do! I really do. How many battles have we survived between us?” Tyrion looked around the room. “Ser Davos Seaworth, survivor of both the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards.”  
“All without a shred of combat ability,” Davos quipped from the sideboard. More laughter.  
“Ser Jaime Lannister, fabled hero of the Siege of Pyke.”  
“Fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood,” Jaime piped up.  
“Hear hear!” Tyrion saluted.  “Ser Brienne of Tarth, the first woman in the history of the Seven Kingdoms to be knighted, and the winner of a battle just this afternoon, I heard.”  
Pod laughed, and Tormund spluttered.  
“It was a draw!” He shouted.  
The group laughed harder.  
Brienne laughed with the rest, and snuck a glance at Tormund. He winked at her. Her face glowed and she took a large gulp of wine. She swallowed it wrong and choked.  
Tyrion made sure she was okay before launching into a new subject. “Have I told any of you about the new religion I’m starting?”  
Jaime groaned.  
“What could it possibly be, I wonder,” Davos chuckled. “Something wholesome, I don’t doubt.”  
“Of course not,” Tyrion said, a bit too loud. “It’s the religion of Tits and Wine!”  
Everyone stared at him.  
He stared back. “My new religion worships the god of Tits and Wine.”  
A good brother, Jaime saluted. “Hear hear!”  
Without looking at Brienne, lest he lose his nerve, Pod called out, “To the god of Tits and Wine!”  
All six goblets were raised and drained.  
  
The alarm bells rang.

 

### The Forge

Arya decided to practice archery in the forge so Gendry would find her. He watched her from the shadows, not realizing that she was aware of him the entire time. She shot three perfectly grouped arrows and reached for a fourth. It found a home with its fellows. She turned to Gendry. He was holding a long staff tipped with a wickedly sharp dragonglass blade.  
“Is that for me?”  
He held it out without a word.  
She took it and spun it in her hands. It felt good. She smiled at it. “This will work.”  
“The last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell. Took the long road but I made it.”  
Spinning the staff, she advanced on him. “What did the Red Woman want with you?”  
He stepped around her and sighed. “She wanted my blood. Some kind of spell.”  
“Why your blood?”  
He looked at her over his shoulder. “I’m Robert Baratheon’s bastard.”  
The staff stopped mid-spin. Her eyes were wide.  
“I didn’t know until she told me. Then she tied me up, stripped me down, put leeches all over me...”  
Arya lifted her eyebrows. “Was that your first time?”  
He frowned. “Yeah, I’ve never had leeches put all over me.”  
She moved farther into the forge, setting her new toy against the wall. “Your first time with a woman?”  
“What?” He asked, startled. He followed Arya stammering. “I... I didn’t... I wasn’t ‘with’ her.”  
She studied his face. “Were you with other girls? Before that, in King’s Landing?” She stripped off her gloves. “Or after?”  
He gave an embarrassed laugh but couldn’t answer.  
She tilted her head. “You don’t remember?”  
“Yes, I was.”  
The interrogation continued. “One? Two? Twenty?”  
Gendry burst out, “I didn’t keep count!”  
She walked around him. “Yes, you did.” Her eyes bored into him.  
He sighed. Nodded. “Three.”  
Her eyes softened, her walk became more fluid. She stepped up in front of him. “We’re probably going to die soon.” Her voice became seductive. “I want to know what sex is like before that happens.”  
Gendry stood very still, hardly daring to breathe. “Arya, I-”  
Arya lifted herself onto her toes and cut him off with a kiss. Her lips were soft, her mouth open and hot. Gendry’s mind spun wildly as this fierce woman overwhelmed his senses. Her small hands pulled at his clothes, opening his shirt so she could run her hands on his chest. His much larger hands ripped the belt from her tunic and threw it onto the floor. Their mouths crashed together again and again, pausing as needed to unlace and open garments. Their clothes lay discarded on the stone floor. Arya shoved a shirtless Gendry onto a pile of sacks. He landed, astonishment in his eyes. He had made love to those long-ago girls in King’s Landing. This wasn’t going to be like that.  
She finished stripping her shirt off, and eyed his trousers. He was staring at the large scars on her torso. _Who is this woman?_ He wondered.  
She stopped, eyebrows lifting at him. “I’m not the Red Woman. Take your own bloody pants off.”  
_Oh, right. Arya godsdamned Stark._ He immediately obeyed her command.  
She shimmied out of her own trousers and kicked them off. She stood fully nude and admired his long naked body with all his delicious muscles.  
Propped on his elbow, he returned the look, sweeping up her sinewy body and full breasts. His mouth watered.  
She flicked her hair over her shoulder with confidence and straddled him. He stared up at her in astonishment. He never expected their flirting over the last few days would lead here. She was clearly in a hurry, but he wanted it to be good for her. He pulled her down and kissed her deeply. Her hips rocked against him, and his hard cock pressed against her.  
Gendry grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her back. He could see the fire in her eyes, and under that, the nerves. He slowly skimmed his fingertips down her torso, circled her navel, and moved to her inner thigh. Her legs opened in response. He slid his middle finger through the thatch of hair at the junction of her thighs, feeling her arousal gathering in droplets. He knew she was impatient, so he didn’t tease her as much as he wanted to. He strummed his finger on her labia, enjoying every sigh and moan. Slowly, his finger slid into her warm channel.    
The walls of her cunt tightened around his finger, and he slid it in and out of her. His thumb brushed over her clitoris, and she lifted her hips, moaning, pushing against his hand until his finger slid all the way into her hot depth. He rubbed her clit, listening to her, watching her body tighten like a bowstring, thrusting his finger in and out of her. When she came, she arched her back, and wailed his name over and over like a prayer to the gods. “Gendry, Gendry, Gendry...”  
He pulled his hand away, and kissed her until she relaxed. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes to see him stroking his cock with her wetness. He watched her, her chest lifting and falling heavily. She finally nodded to him. He lay on his back, and let her straddle him again.  
“Go as slow as you need to,” he whispered. She told him to shut up. He caught her mouth and kissed her until she was moaning and rocking against him. With one hand on her hip, he guided his cock to the entrance of her wet little cunt. She rocked against him, eyes wide at how much larger his cock felt than his finger. He bit his lip. She snarled at him. He felt himself falling in love with her. She braced herself on his shoulder, her fingers biting into his skin as he slid his cock into her for the first time.  
Arya gasped at the pinch she felt, but as she breathed, her body relaxed and she felt him enter her deeper. She looked into his eyes. She had never felt this vulnerable before in her life. But his face wasn’t ugly and twisted in lust, eager to use her and then leave. He looked like a man at prayer, eyes open and seeing proof of miracles. She began rocking her hips to test out the sensation. His eyes fluttered, but he never stopped looking at her face, her large eyes. He was the only man she had ever found attractive, and they had been friends for years. She wanted him, all of him. On her terms. In her own way. She had been following her own path since before he had known her, and she had no interest in doing anything else.  
“Are you okay?” He asked her, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his control. His fingers gripped her hips, waiting for a response.  
“I’m ready,” she breathed, and slowly, he began to thrust.

Afterwards, they pulled their tunics over them so they could cuddle without their sweat freezing on their skin.  
Arya’s breath still hadn’t quite returned to normal. “Is it always like that?”  
Gendry chuckled a little. “In my experience, it’s rarely like that.” She shifted closer to him, her hand flat on his chest, listening to his heart beat.  
He could lay like this forever, Gendry thought, forgetting for the moment why they were even in Winterfell together. He started to close his eyes.

The alarm bells rang.

 

### The War Room

Jon Snow stood at the head of the large table covered with a map of Winterfell and carved and painted wooden pieces that represented the various forces, both ally and enemy.  
Flanking him were Sansa and Arya Stark, and then around the table stood Samwell Tarly, Theon Greyjoy, Alys Karstark, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Tormund Giantsbane, Beric Dondarrion, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Davos Seaworth, Lyanna Mormont, and Yohn Royce. To his right was Daenerys Targaryen, flanked by her Hand, Tyrion Lannister, and Ser Jorah Mormont, with Varys, Qhono, a Dothraki bloodrider, and Grey Worm on her other side. Bran Stark sat alone.  
“They are coming. We have dragonglass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them, far too many. Our enemy doesn’t tire, doesn’t stop, doesn’t feel pain. We can’t beat them in a straight fight.”  
Jaime asked, “So what can we do?”  
Jon pointed at the map. “We will wait for them to come to us. The fighters will have to go in waves. We will be withholding companies and pulling soldiers off the field to rest, eat, shit, drink water. We cannot afford to let them get so exhausted they can’t fight.  
“We dug two trenches. We hope they think we only have one. They are rigged to collapse, and they are lined with dragonglass shards. We will light them and burn the wights.  
Clay balls filled with pitch and oil are loaded on the catapults. They will shatter on impact, and we’re hoping the flames will spread from one wight to the next. It’s not as effective as wildfire, but also not as dangerous for the rest of us.”  
Daenerys pointed at the two carved dragons. “The dragons will be flying circuits, burning any wights on the edges of the field, forcing them to crowd together. But we can’t directly attack the Night King and risk losing another dragon”  
“At some point,” Jon said grimly, “we will get overrun. We can’t prevent it. The children, the women who aren’t fighters, and the non-fighters in this room will take shelter in the crypt. We don’t know how long you will need to be barricaded in there, so there’s a week’s worth of food and water down there. We also ringed each sarcophagus in dragonglass and there are weapons down there in the event of an attack. We have no proof that the Night King can raise wights from dust and bones, but better safe than sorry.”  
Sansa cut in. “We have trained the soldiers with different signals for different maneuvers, depending on the horn blasts from the watchtower. Bran will also be in the watchtower, using his... abilities to guide the fight.”  
“What abilities?” Jaime asked.  
Bran spoke up in a voice free of inflection. “I have excellent eyesight.”  
Jon nodded, glancing at Daenerys. “Right. This will not be easy. But we believe that if the Night King made all the wights and White Walkers, then killing him is the only way to stop all of this.”  
“How are we going to do that?” Brienne asked.  
Jon sighed. “We just have to wait until he exposes himself. And hope that someone is there, ready to take advantage of the opportunity.”  
Tormund sighed. “We’re all going to die.” He cast a glance sideways at Brienne. “But at least we die together.”


	8. The First Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle begins. Warning for canon-typical violence.

###  The Crypt

Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister, and Varys the Spider headed down to the crypt behind  the flood of women and children. Each of the three was heavily laden with bags and baskets of food, skins of water, kegs of ale, woolen blankets, and weapons. Sansa even had a couple children’s games tucked into her skirt pockets.  
Gilly and Missandei stood at the bottom of the steps, directing everyone as they entered. Gilly smiled with relief at the food and water. Missandei didn’t smile, but she put a grateful hand out and touched Varys on the shoulder as he walked by.  
The crypt was a collection of stone rooms set into the cool earth, and there was plenty of space for everyone. Sansa set her heavy baskets down in a corner of the main room. Tyrion and Varys followed her. Varys sat on a cask of ale and wiped sweat from his forehead.  
“I need to make sure everyone has at least one knife,” Sansa told the advisors. She picked up the basket of dragonglass knives and walked around the room, speaking to the adults, making sure they knew where to find extra blankets and food, giving them each a knife. She gave away the toys and games, and reminded the children that in the event of a dispute, they could come to her and she would settle the matter for them.  
When her hands were empty, Sansa slipped away to the mausoleum. It was further into the crypt than most of the Northerners wanted to go, and right now it was blessedly silent. Sansa walked to her mother’s statue and stared up into the carved stone face that would never be enough for a girl who longed to be held by her mother’s flesh and blood arms.  
Sansa lit a candle, setting it in her mother’s cupped hands. She stepped back. “I’m trying to be the Lady of Winterfell. I’m trying to be like you were. The villagers and their wives always came to you with their hurts and their woes, and you always listened.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m so scared, Mother. Please, please watch over all of us tonight. Your wolves, and every living person fighting to defend our home.” Sansa closed her eyes and gave herself a minute to let the tears fall.  
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face. Sansa whispered, “I always have a clean one, Mother.” Then she composed herself, and became the Lady of Winterfell once more.

 

###  The Watchtower

Ser Davos Seaworth puffed with the effort of carrying Bran Stark up the many, many stairs to the watchtower. As light as Bran was, he wasn’t a young man, hadn’t been in some years.  
The watchtower guards made way for them, and showed Davos the chair Jon had ordered them to bring up after dinner. It was wooden and plain, with a simple cushion and a few blankets. Davos set Bran down in it, and Bran arranged the blankets.  
A lone horse whinnied below them, and one of the guards leaned far over the wall. “It looks like a woman,” he told his partner.  
“Well, she ain’t a Walker, so I guess you should tell them to open the gate,” the other guard reasoned.    
The first guard called, “Open the gate.”  
“But what woman would be riding here alone, now?”  
That bothered Davos, but he couldn’t quite say why. Before he could give it much thought, the night came alive with an avalanche of the dead.

 

###  The Battlement

Arya Stark waited on the battlement with the archers. Decorating the outer edge of the stone balustrade were large dragonglass spikes. Between each pair of archers along this stretch of wall was a flaming barrel. Arya gripped her new staff. The sanded and oiled wood felt good in her hand. That Gendry had taken the time to polish the wood when there was so little time filled her with warmth that touched her heart, if not her fingertips.  
Fear clogged her throat when she heard the sound of the dead attacking the living. Setting the staff aside, she pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back and held it over the flames before nocking it and aiming it carefully.

 

###  On the Field 

From the Dragon’s Hill, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen could see the field below. It was hard to distinguish who was who, even with the torches burning throughout the field. They could hear that the gate was being opened for a lone rider.  
“I wonder who that is,” Daenerys mused. She swung herself into her new saddle and tested out the feel of the reins. She was pleased that she could reach everything easily, including the knife concealed under her skirt.  
Jon finished adjusting his saddle and pulled himself up. Rhaegal snorted his appreciation.  
Sudden shouts from down on the field caught their attention. A fast moving shadow was spreading over the land, darker even than the black of night.  
Daenerys stared, her anger rising to rage. These were  _ Jon’s _ people. How did that frozen bastard  _ dare _ to touch these men, like he had dared to touch  _ her _ child. She growled.  
“Easy, love,” Jon cautioned. “We don’t fly until they breach the first trench.”  
So she waited. And her rage grew.

The sun had been down for hours, and it was bitterly cold. Theon Greyjoy rubbed his hands together through his thick gloves. The small group of Ironborn he had brought with him stood at his back, occasionally stamping their boots to keep their feet warmer. Not that it helped.  
Around the reavers were the Lannister soldiers. They each had training, discipline, and a healthy dose of murderous rage. Theon wouldn’t admit it to his men, but he was more at ease fighting alongside the Lannister army than with the farmers and stable hands in the third wave. 

The night rushed at them with sounds that made him feel like a frightened child. The first three dozen wights hit the trench and fell, turning to dust when they were impaled with the embedded dragonglass shards. Theon steeled himself. They could be killed. He gripped his sword harder.  
The trench was filling. They weren’t all turning to dust. They were going to make it out soon.  _ And they’re going to die, _ he thought.  
There were so many of them that it didn’t take more than a few minutes. Theon saw a grisly hand pull itself up from inside the trench, and the wight crawled out. A reaver let out a battle cry and stabbed at the wight. It exploded into dust. He stabbed the next one. The one he didn’t see grabbed his ankle and pulled the man into the trench. He fell, screaming for help. Wights crawled out all along the trench. The rest of the Ironborn surged forward to stop them, and the battle began in earnest.

Near the catapults, Ser Jaime Lannister held his hand up. When he dropped it, clay balls went sailing through the air. They landed and smashed in the faraway darkness of the advancing horde. Pitch, lamp oil, and dragonglass shrapnel flew out in all directions. The wights didn’t notice, didn’t care, and kept advancing.  
Jaime shouted to the men loading and launching the catapults to fire at will, and he did his best to defend them. He swung his sword in all directions, stabbing, dismembering, impaling. He roared, his blood pounding in his ears. He swung at a wight and missed, and the creature grabbed one of his men and bite down, severing the man’s arm. A nameless ally stabbed the monster through the gaping ribcage, and it exploded into dust. Jaime had no to time to think, no time to thank the man, before the next one was on him. And the next. And the next.


	9. The Second Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon-typical violence.

###  On the Battlement

Arya Stark hissed in frustration. Her quiver was almost empty, and none of her arrows had caught fire, even when they had hit their target. The other archers were having the same problem. A frigid wind was blowing toward them, smelling of death and snuffing their flames.  
_ To hell with this _ , she thought. She grabbed her staff and ran for the stairs.

 

###  On the Field 

Sandor Clegane rolled his eyes as he turned away from Tormund Giantsbane. The wildling bastard might be a good fighter, but he was shit company. He just kept  _ talking _ . Sandor had demanded he be included in the second wave because he trusted Tormund more than that skinny Greyjoy cunt, and he wasn’t taking orders from a fucking Lannister again for the rest of his life.  _ Which might not be that long from now,  _ he thought. But fuck if Tormund wasn’t going to make it feel longer.  
The horn at the gate blew twice, the signal for the second wave.  _ Good _ . Sandor was ready for a fucking fight. As he ran out of the warm hall, a wall of ice hit his face like needles.  _ Fuck, this is miserable _ . He grinned and ran for the bridge that lead to the field.  
He ran past some bitch on a horse dressed all in red, chanting something he didn’t hear. Men around him shouted, “Lift up your swords!” Sandor raised his sword into the air, and the godsdamned thing lit on fire. It scared him so bad he almost dropped it. Hooves pounded the snowy ground around him and between one breath and the next, they were there. Tearing, shrieking, vicious, ugly things. Out of reflex, he swung the sword. It crunched and sizzled when it connected. He liked that. He swung the flaming sword again and again, getting used to the heat and the light. Almost every man around him had a weapon on fire.  
Beric Dondarrion grappled with a monster nearby, his sword finally coming to bear in the monster’s ribcage. He caught sight of Sandor’s face and laughed. “I knew you’d like it. The Lord of Light-”  
“Shut the fuck up,” Sandor roared. He beheaded a wight. It collapsed between them. Sandor pointed a finger at Beric. “Shut the fuck up.” They turned away from each other to block two more wights. Sandor could still hear Beric laughing.  _ Cunt _ .

Qhono heard the horn blow twice, and he jumped onto Darkstar’s back. They galloped through the gate and over a narrow bridge. A strange woman was chanting, and a white man near her shouted in Dothraki, “Lift your arakh!” Qhono’s weapon was already up, and it blazed with fire. He grinned and rode down the unlucky horrors in his path. Some of the monsters were covered in oil, and they burst into flames as he cut them in half. The fire spread from one to the next, even buffeted by the bitter wind. Soon the air was filled with smoke and ash. Qhono squinted his eyes, and continued his rampage. He howled and whooped, and heard the answering calls of his Dothraki brothers. Darkstar trampled bodies under her hooves, as comfortable in the violence around her as her sisters. She bugled in rage as a demon attacked her. Her rider decapitated it and she kept running through the melee.

Tormund stabbed and slashed, pulling demons off the living and choking down his horror at the way the humans were being killed. There was enough light from the flaming weapons that he could see the snow under his feet was stained with blood and ash. He buried every thought and embraced the mayhem, killing and killing and killing.

 

###  On the Hill 

When the first trench was breached, Daenerys and Drogon rose from the Hill, followed a moment later by Jon and Rhaegal. Her face was twisted in rage as Drogon pumped his wings to gain altitude. As they swept over the edge of the field, she screamed, “Dracarys!” Drogon opened his mouth and dragonfire poured from his mighty jaws. The pitch-covered wights lit up and the fire spread to the rags and hair of the monsters next to them. She bared her teeth in satisfaction, and she and her dragon went to work.

 

###  On the Field 

In the first wave, Ser Jaime Lannister worked his way backwards, grabbing his men and the Ironborn and forcing them to retreat behind the wave of Dothraki and Free Folk. Jaime ducked as a dragon flew overhead, flames hitting the solid wall of the dead and lighting up more than a few of them. He jumped out of the way as a wall of flame rose from the burning corpses around him. The horn blew, signalling the fighters to fall back behind the second trench. He turned and ran for the narrow bridge. 

 

###  In the Air 

Jon Snow and Rhaegal performed strafing runs over right side of the field. He tried to keep his mind on what he could control, which was precious little, but he kept looking for Daenerys. He caught the sight of Drogon flying low, wings spread wide, a dark shadow against the orange light reflected on the clouds overhead, lighting the first trench on fire. Jon sucked in his breath at the sight. He would never forget that image as long as he lived. Wights were dying below him, but so were soldiers. He was relieved when he heard the horn blow, signalling retreat. Below him, he saw wights trying to make their way around the wall to a less-defended part of the castle, and Jon turned Rhaegal, blasting them into ash and hemming them in.

 

###  On the Field 

Theon Greyjoy was the last one over the narrow bridge. As the creatures rallied to chase the living, he screamed to the men stationed at the traps, “Pull it!” The traps were activated, the bridges collapsed, and the wights fell into the second trench, where they burned.


	10. The Third Wave Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon-typical violence

###  On the Field 

The horn blew three times, signalling the third wave. The fresh soldiers ran out of the Hall and into madness. There were people running in all directions, horses with no riders, blood and bone fragments hanging in the smoke-filled, frozen air. Ser Brienne of Tarth charged forward, her men at her back, war cries mingling with screams for help, mercy, death. Her sword raised high, she roared and rushed forward.

The Unsullied marched out, a single mind made up of thousands of men. They formed a phalanx behind the Northmen, armed with shields and spears. They were the last line of defense for the wall itself, the wall of soldiers the rest of the living would tremble behind before the end of the night.

Thirteen year old Lyanna Mormont, shorter than any adult besides Tyrion Lannister, was devastating the mobility of any wight that crossed her path. Armed with two long knives, she wielded them with deadly practice. And once they lost a leg, they were slower and easier to kill. Some of her men guarded her back while the others spread out. 

Sandor Clegane was in his element. His heart still jumped out of his chest when he got too close to something burning, but the fear fueled his rage. He was good at killing, always had been. Arya had asked him why he was here, and he knew she didn’t understand because in her eyes, he would always be The Hound, a killer who would run down children on the order of a tyrant. But leaving King’s Landing and traveling with her had connected him to something he hadn’t even realized he had lost. He wanted to belong to a place. He wanted to belong to a people. He had almost had that, after she had left him to die, in a nice place with kind people who looked at him with understanding instead of fear. Being connected to those people and wanting vengeance for their senseless deaths had led him to Beric and the Brotherhood, who in turn had led him back here. It was all connected, and if anyone ever asked him about it, he would deny it. But the people that lived here were his kind of bastards, and he would fight to protect them, because maybe, someday, he could belong here.

Eddison Tollett, Samwell Tarly, and Gendry Waters had found themselves on the field together, and recognizing an advantage, kept their backs to each other as they hacked and slashed and stabbed at the reanimated corpses. Without warning, a wight leapt at Gendry, and he hit the ground, his axe falling too far for him to reach. Eddison shouted and stabbed his sword through the demon, the tip of the blade coming to rest on Gendry’s sternum. Gendry gasped and pushed the monster off of him. Edd offered him a hand up. His eyes went blank. Gendry didn’t understand until he saw the dark stain gathering under Edd’s feet. The man swayed and fell to the ground next to him. Gendry grabbed him, but knew he was already gone. 

Sam glanced behind himself and screamed, “No!” But there was no time for grief. No time to do anything other than keep fighting. No time at all.


	11. The Third Wave Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle intensifies. Warnings for character deaths and canon-typical violence.

###  On the Field 

The small squad of Mormont soldiers was honoring their tiny leader with their fighting skills. Lyanna Mormont didn't have time to feel such unimportant feelings as pride as she fought with everything she had. She trusted her men to do their damn job. She sank a dragonglass knife into a demon's ribs and pulled it out again with a grunt. An instinct she couldn't have named made her look out toward the trench. Something was rippling through the darkness, something big. It got to the edge of the firelight, and her stomach dropped. 

The giant jumped over the flaming trench like it was a cobblestone and ran for the wall, bright blue eyes shining. 

There was no time. Only a somewhat clear field, and a small girl with two sharp knives. Lyanna screamed in challenge and charged at the monster.

 

Ser Jorah Mormont heard the voice of his young cousin screaming in rage and turned, blocking a blow without looking. He dispatched the creature, his eyes searching for her in the crowd. When he saw where she was going, he couldn't breathe.

_ No. Please, no. _

 

The giant barely registered the noise near its foot, but the knives stabbing into its leg made an impression. A massive hand swung down and dislodged the irritation. The small body landed with a crunch. The giant kept moving to the wall. 

 

Lyanna landed in a heap. She felt a rib break. That just pissed her off. She rolled to her feet and charged the monster again, screaming as loud as she could.

 

The lumbering monster heard the screaming and turned. The little enemy was still alive. The dead giant reached for her, squeezing hard. 

 

Lyanna couldn't breathe as the hand tightened around her and brought her up to its face.  _ Closer, you big fucker, _ she thought. When she was in striking distance, she stabbed the blue eye closest to her unbroken arm. The monster made a horrible sound, and they went down together. 

Lyanna closed her eyes and smiled before they hit the ground.  _ Worth it. _

 

Jorah watched helpless as the giant crushed his cousin. He was shocked when she killed it, and he shouted for the men to scatter before they were crushed by the falling body. It landed at Jorah's feet, and he stared in shock. The Mormont soldiers looked at him. He felt a fire burn inside his chest.

He raised his sword. "For Lyanna!"

The men roared, and jumped back into the fight.

 

The Unsullied had moved their formation into the battlefield in front of the second trench, their shields up, their spears in between. The frontline of Northerners was fading fast. Grey Worm called for reinforcements. Above him, he heard the low horn signal the first wave back to the field, and after a pause, the second wave.

###  In the Castle

The Red Priestess found Arya Stark running through the castle. "Wait!" 

The tiny killer screeched to a halt and drew her sword. Staring at Arya over the tip of Needle pointed at her throat, Melisandre raised her hands. "I didn't kill him."

Arya bared her teeth. "If you had, you'd already be dead."

"I knew that," the Priestess said, "just as I knew we would meet again."

Arya lowered her sword. "Aye, you were right about that. You said I would close many eyes forever. You were right about that, too."

Melisandre licked her dry lips. "Many eyes. Brown eyes, blue eyes... And green eyes."

Arya narrowed her own eyes at the Red Woman, who said, "I only have one more message to deliver to you, girl. Get to Theon. Go now."

Arya ran for the front hall and didn't look back.

 

In the Great Hall, Theon Greyjoy was standing as near the flames as he could get without his clothes catching fire. It wasn't enough. His fingers and toes felt like ice, when he could feel them at all. He had a long scratch down his face, and his coat was ripped in places, but the leather over his armor had held. 

Arya ran through the men and stopped behind Theon. He whirled around and stared at her. "Arya, what are you doing down here? They're going to call us back to the field at any minute!"

She nodded, panting. "I was told to go with you."

"Told by who?" he asked. Before she could answer, the signal for the first wave came, and then the signal for the second wave. The surviving Ironborn and Free Folk picked up their weapons and moved toward the door. Near the tables of food, a loud southern voice proclaimed, "To the seven hells with that! I'm not going!"

Theon tried to find the coward in the crowd, but there were too many Lannister soldiers, and many of them were wearing mutinous expressions or crossing their arms.

An Ironborn man near Arya snorted and made sure his voice carried. "Some Lions you are, nothing but cowardly bastards."

Swords were drawn in response to those words, but before anyone could start a brawl that would leave the living dying on the floor, Arya jumped in between the two groups of men. "I'm going out to fight. Anyone who doesn't want to be shown up by a twenty-two year old girl will join me." She turned smartly, and Theon flanked her. The Ironborn and Free Folk followed, and by the sound of it, the Lannister soldiers were behind them. At the gate, Theon looked down at his cousin. She nodded sharply at him, and they ran into the fray.

 

###  In the Air

Ice crystals coated Jon Snow’s eyelashes and burned his eyes. He and Rhaegal were covering the third wave. He could make out Drogon’s shape against the white clouds.  _ That’s odd _ , he thought.  _ Daenerys knows she isn’t supposed to cross the battlefield like that.  _ The dragon flying directly at him didn’t seem to know that. As it got closer, Jon saw his mistake and kicked his heels into Rhaegal’s sides as hard as he could. The dragon shot blue flames at the sky Jon had been flying through not seconds before. As Jon banked sharply, he saw the Night King riding the dead Viserion, glee smeared across his ugly face before they changed direction. Jon watched them go, his rage building. It took him too many seconds to realize what the Night King intended to do, too many seconds to recognize that the Night King carried a spear made of ice, and was flying directly at Daenerys.

 

Daenerys was flying her circuit, letting Drogon flame anywhere and everywhere the dragon chose. She knew she was flying too close to enemy lines, but she was too angry to care. She lit up everything in her path. A funny tingle on the back of her neck had her looking over her shoulder. She screamed, knowing she was already too late. Viserion, a grotesque image of what he had been in life, dove at her from the darkness. She pulled Drogon’s reins, forcing him to lean too hard into a turn. They rolled through the air, Daenerys flat in the saddle, holding on to Drogon’s fins. They swooped low over the field, and Viserion followed them, blue flames spraying behind them. Drogon rolled again to change directions, and Daenerys was thrown from her saddle, one foot caught in the stirrup. She heard the whistle of the ice spear as it ripped through the air, inches from Drogon’s scales. She wasn’t going to be able to get her seat back before her leg was broken, she realized as she hung upside down. In a flash, she remembered Grey Worm and the knife she had strapped to her leg. She twisted her body and pulled the knife out of the sheath before sawing at the leather straps. The knife was nearly through the leather when she felt Drogon bunch up his muscles to gain altitude.  _ Now or never, _ she thought. The knife slipped out of her hand and she pulled with all her strength. The leather tore and she fell a dozen feet to the hard ground. Rhaegal was suddenly overhead, closing with the cold dragon. Dead claws ripped into living dragon, and crawling to her feet, Daenerys felt fat drops of blood hit her. She screamed.

 

A wight wolf jumped over a pile of corpses to fling itself at Ser Jorah Mormont. He swung his sword and caught the beast in the throat. The growling and snarling stopped as the monster turned to ash. Ser Jorah heard a woman scream and he was running towards his queen before his brain had distinguished the sound, his cousin's death fresh in his mind.

 

Daenerys’ screams had attracted wights, but she hadn’t even noticed the danger. Her eyes were on the sky, watching as Drogon realized she wasn’t on his back and came back for her. He landed with his claws fanned out, grabbing and crushing a number of wights beneath him. His mother ran to him, trying to get a foothold so she could mount him. A demon grabbed her arm and spun her away. She hit the ground for the second time in as many minutes, the air knocked from her lungs. She heard her child scream in rage. Seeing a thin dragonglass knife abandoned on the ground, she closed her hand on it.

Ser Jorah was there above her, pulling her to her feet. “Run, Khaleesi!” he screamed. He shoved her toward Drogon and turned away, Valyrian steel shining in the torchlight.

Daenerys shoved the knife into the empty sheath and grabbed Drogon’s fins to pull herself back into her saddle. Kicking her heels into Drogon’s sides, they lifted off. Her eyes strained to see Jorah around the piles of moving corpses, and then she knew in her heart that he was under the pile of the dead. Eyes burning with tears and smoke and ice, she screamed, “Dracarys!” and together they immolated his corpse and anything moving nearby.

 

In a rage, the Night King lifted his hands.

 

###  The Crypt 

Sansa Stark sat against the wall with her chin in her hand. She felt bad that she was bored while people fought and died outside the walls, but she was. They had been sitting in near silence for close to two hours. 

Missandei sat down next to her and handed her a wine skin. "I don't usually drink wine, but I need it tonight."

Sansa took it gratefully and drank deeply from the spout. The wine was warm and went down wrong. Sansa sputtered and choked. Missandei whacked her on the back and then looked horrified. Through the tears streaming down her face, Sansa giggled at Missandei, who looked abashed and then laughed at herself. 

"I hope the future Queen of the North won't have me executed for striking her," the diplomat said quietly.

"How could I? You just saved my life." The two women smiled at each other. Sansa took a smaller sip of the wine and handed the skin back. "You have someone out there, don't you? What's their name?"

Worry clouded Missandei's lovely dark eyes. "Grey Worm. He's the general of the Unsullied." Her long fingers played with the wine skin. "I've never known anyone as brave or as fierce... or as gentle. Except maybe Daenerys."

Sansa thought of the man who used to scare her, but had only ever been gentle and kind to her, and she almost understood.  _ But they love each other _ , she thought.  _ It's different. _

A commotion came from deeper in the crypt, and a child screamed. The adults that could leapt to their feet. A boy came running back towards them, a piece of dragonglass in his hand. Behind him crawled... Sansa shuddered and shrank back against the wall, her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream. 

Missandei kicked the thing, and it hissed at her. Sansa reached for her knife and couldn't figure out where to stick it. The thing was all bones and dust and tattered rags. As she jumped on its back, she hoped it wasn't her father. She drove the dagger through the ribs and the creature turned to dust underneath her. 

Tyrion came running, and Sansa looked deeper into the crypt. There were a dozen of the monsters, crawling out of sarcophagi and from under stone slabs. Tyrion was attacking what looked like an old woman. She was snarling as she tried to grab him, but he had her by her ancient hair. A knife into the breastplate, and she was gone.

Missandei was getting off the floor covered in dust when Sansa saw a skeletal hand grab the other woman's ankle. She didn't think, just hiked up her long skirts and kicked as hard as she could. The skull cracked under her boot, but the monster wasn't done. It reeled back and turned its empty eye sockets to Sansa. It screamed and came at her in a blur. She fell back and thrust the knife up. It exploded in her face. She coughed bone fragments out of her mouth and ran to help Tyrion. He was stuck behind a statue, pushing on it as hard as he could. The wight in front of him could just barely reach him, but was taking chunks of flesh off his arm with its sharp fingers. 

Missandei ran up behind her. "That's the last one! Sansa, grab the other side of the statue. Maybe we can trap it." 

Sansa obeyed the instructions, and she and Tyrion started to rock the statue while Missandei distracted it. It turned a blank face to her as a shower of pebbles rained down. In the moment it wasn't looking, Sansa and Tyrion levered the statue off the plinth and it fell, trapping the monster. Missandei grimly stabbed it with her knife.

Tyrion wrapped his bleeding arm in his shirt. 

"How did this happen?" Sansa demanded.

Breathing hard from his nose, Tyrion growled, "That child moved the dragonglass shards around some of the sarcophagi. The Night King must have raised the dead, and some of your ancestors reanimated."

Missandei was studying the plinth. She held her hand up and felt a breeze. "Help me move this." 

Sansa grabbed the other side and the two women grunted with their effort to shift the stone. As they moved it, a tunnel was revealed.

The diplomat looked at the Queen. "Where does this go?"

Sansa shook her head. " I don't know."

Overhead, they could hear the scream of a dragon and stones falling. Pounding fists of the living, and then the dead, echoed through the crypt.

"The castle is falling," Tyrion whispered, looking at the ceiling. 

"That tunnel is big enough to fit all of us," Missandei pointed out. 

Sansa hesitated. A roar from overhead made all of them jump, and she made her decision.

"Grab everyone and all the food and water and blankets we can carry." She headed to the wall and worked a torch from the old iron bracket. When she turned around, Tyrion hadn't moved.

"It could be just as dangerous."

Her blue eyes were ice. "Maybe we’ll die horribly," she said, stepping into the tunnel with her torch. "But maybe we won’t."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I'm moving from Oregon to Georgia right now (I'm actually posting this from the road, so please excuse formatting errors)! Your sweet comments and kudos give me life!


	12. A Change of Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for character death and canon-typical violence.

###  The Watchtower  

Bran Stark and Davos Seaworth watched the battle progress, huddling near the flaming barrel between them. Davos was carefully leaning over the dragonglass-studded wall when one of the guards gave a shout. He turned, half expecting to see a wight climbing the wall. Instead, Bran was convulsing, his eyes rolled back in his head so only the whites were showing. Davos grabbed Bran’s tunic and tried to hold him still until the young man slumped in his arms.

“Bran?” Davos cried frantically. “Bran, did you see something?”

Bran didn’t answer. 

“Get him some water, you lump!” Davos shouted at the guard. The man fetched a water skin. Davos carefully poured water into Bran’s slack mouth. 

Bran swallowed slowly, his breathing too delayed, his eyes too distant. He grabbed Davos’ hand, his grip weak. “The Night King is sending his White Walkers to King’s Landing through White Harbour. I saw him sitting on the Iron Throne.”

“No,” Davos whispered. He shook his head in denial, terror climbing his spine. “No. They’re  _ here _ . They’re attacking  _ us _ .”

“It’s a diversion,” Bran croaked in dismay. “They’re distracting us.”

Davos cried to the guard, “Signal the dragons! Get them here now!”

 

Jon Snow heard the horn blow as Rhaegal blasted the edge of the field. He couldn’t remember that pattern, but it wasn't for the soldiers. He figured he should do a sweep over the watchtower. If they needed him, they would wave a torch. He and Rhaegal made a wide turn and headed back for the castle. Through burning eyes, he could make out the shape of Drogon heading to the castle too. He turned his head as far as he could in all directions. He didn't see Wight Viserion anywhere.

 

The two dragons landed within seconds of each other on the peaked roofs of the watchtower. 

Davos shouted, "The Night King is heading to Winterfell. Bran saw a vision..."

Before he could finish, Daenerys had signaled to Drogon. The dragon leapt off the roof, and turned toward King's Landing.

Jon shouted, "Dany, no!" But she was already gone.

Jon kicked Rhaegal, and they lifted off. Instead of chasing Daenerys, they landed in the middle of the field. Jon scrambled down from his saddle. A monster came at him and he punched it in the face, running, searching. Finally, he saw Brienne.

"Brienne! Brienne!" he screamed. She turned, and Tormund finished off the monster she had been fighting. 

"I have to go," Jon gasped desperately. "Don't ask questions. I'm giving command to Ser Brienne of Tarth and making Tormund Giantsbane her second in command." Before either of them could say anything, he had turned and sprinted back to Rhaegal.

When he got back to his dragon, Theon and Arya were standing guard. 

"Whatever it is, we're coming with you," Arya told Jon. Theon nodded. Two men nearby were fighting creatures off with complementary skills. Ser Jaime had lost his sword, but he was still fast. He pulled a wight into a headlock, and Sandor Clegane stabbed the monster's stomach.

Arya, echoing Jon's thoughts, said, "They should come with us."

Jon yelled for the men, and they came over as quickly as they could. 

"The Night King is distracting us with part of his army, but he's taking the rest to King's Landing. Daenerys took off to stop him, but I don't know if she'll be able to catch him in time. And we'll both need help in King's Landing even if we can kill him, since Cersei will be trying to kill us."

"What d'you want us to do about it?" Sandor asked.

"Let me fly you to Barrowton. From there you can take a ship South."

Theon nodded. "We can get to the Iron Islands and Yara will take us there."

Sandor shrugged. "Sounds stupid. I'm in."

The four of them climbed up behind Jon's saddle, and Rhaegal took off, gaining altitude.

 

###  In the Castle 

After the dragons took off, Bran pulled Davos' sleeve. 

Davos looked into Bran's clear, dark eyes. "What is it, Bran?"

Bran tilted his head back. 

Davos could see clouds and stars reflected in the young man's eyes. 

The Three Eyed Raven said, "The Red Woman is here." 

Their eyes met. 

Blood pounded in his ears. "I'm sorry Bran. I have to go." Davos turned and ran for the stairs.

 

It didn't take long for the old man to find her. Melisandre looked at him and recognition flickered in her fiery eyes.

"Ser Davos," she crooned.

"You killed Shireen! You made that idiot Stannis kill his daughter!" His voice shook. "She would've been a great lady and because of you she's nothing but a pile of ashes!"

The Red Woman said nothing. 

In rage, in grief, Davos pulled his sword and ran her through. It was harder than he thought it would be, and they tumbled to the floor together. A pool of blood grew beneath her. She took his hand and whispered, "Find the light." And she was gone.

At first, nothing happened. Then a ball of flames engulfed her body. 

Davos screamed and scrambled back. He watched in shock as her body burned to ashes before his eyes.

 

###  On the Field 

His heart sinking, Grey Worm pulled his sword out of a demon. Through the fray, he could see the second trench getting overrun. 

"Light it!" he bellowed. A creature lunged at him, snapping and snarling like a wild animal. As he grappled with it, he thought of Missandei. It was supposed to be against the training of the Unsullied to love, to lust, to want companionship. But he had defied every part of his training when he gave his life  _ by his choice  _ to his Queen. It wasn't so shocking then, that the rest had fallen away as the Unsullied embraced freedom. But it did scare him, distracted him from the war at hand. 

The demon screeched as a blade cut it in two. Behind the cloud of dust was Ser Brienne. 

"Are you okay?" she shouted.

He nodded, teeth gritted.

"Good. Get to the trench, I'll cover you."

Grey Worm ran for the trench. The soldiers who had been stationed there to light the trench were dead, monsters feeding on their flesh. He ignored all of the screaming and chaos, pulling up short to avoid being trampled by a Dothraki rider intent on riding down her prey. He snatched a torch off the ground and looked for a way to light it. 

A man nearby was swinging a flaming sword. One of his compatriots saw Grey Worm and shoved him toward the trench. Grey Worm sprinted to the man, Ser Brienne at his back. 

Beric Dondarrion stopped fighting long enough for Grey Worm to swipe the oily torch rags along the blade. The torch sputtered to life. He backed away and looked at Ser Brienne. 

She nodded at the trench. "Run!" She, Beric, and men whose names he might never know formed a wall at his back as he ran flat out. 

He got to the edge of the trench and stopped. He said a prayer to the God of Death and the Lord of Light and tossed the torch into the trench.

As he turned away, he could hear the signal for retreat echo over the battlefield.

 

"Retreat!" echoed over the field. Those that could did. Those that couldn't screamed for help and begged for their mothers before being swarmed by the dead. Brienne refused to be distracted by the horrific scenes flashing by. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. Poddrick Payne was nearby, guarding the backs of the blacksmith and the scholar. Tormund hadn't left her sight since Jon had given the two of them command. He was gathering as many survivors as he could, his shaggy red head swiveling every few minutes to make sure he could see her. The Unsullied with their blessed shields guarded much of the retreat through the gate. Brienne knew she wasn't going through the gate until every last survivor was off the field.

The monsters came at them in a blinding fury, causing even battle-hardened soldiers to panic and run. They were swarming up the walls of the castle. The last soldiers were through the gate, and she and Tormund ran through it. Quono and Grey Worm closed the heavy gate, straining and grunting. Dead bodies got crushed between the iron and wood, and still reached for the living. Finally latched, the four of them ran for the castle.

Poddrick and the blacksmith,  _ Gendry _ , her brain supplied, were waiting at the door into the castle. Running backward, Brienne and Tormund covered them, leaping through the heavy wooden doors before they too were thrown closed. The castle was chaos. Tormund jumped on a table and roared for quiet.

"Everyone shut it! Jon Snow gave command to Ser Brienne..."

A panicked voice shouted, "Where is he? Where did the dragons go?!"

Brienne climbed up beside Tormund. "The Night King is using Winterfell as a distraction while he attacks King's Landing."

Dismayed shouts from around the room. "Then we should help them!"

Brienne shook her head. "Unfortunately, that's not an option. We are completely surrounded. The best thing we can do is stay alive, and that means sheltering here. We need help boarding up windows and barricading doors. There's enough space for all of us in the Great Hall, along with food and water. We'll fortify that, and if the gods are merciful, we'll all survive."

She climbed off the table and started directing the soldiers to fortify the castle. 

"Ser Brienne!" A familiar voice called to her. Davos made his way to her, fighting tears. He was covered in blood.

"What..."

"I left Bran!" Davos cried. "I left him and he's at the top of the tower with no chair!"

Brienne swore. "Get into the Hall now." 

Poddrick came through the crowd. "Let me help you."

"Absolutely not," she snapped. "Get back in there and keep everyone calm. Tormund!"

The wild man appeared at her elbow. 

She sighed inwardly. "I need your help." Considering how dire their current circumstances were, the grin that lit up his face was positively indecent. She rolled her eyes. As they passed the door of the Hall, she grabbed Pod. "Wait for us before you close the Hall off. We'll be as fast as we can."

She ran for the stairs, Tormund's heavy footsteps behind her a comfort.

 

###  In the Castle 

The two of them burst out of the doorway at the top of the watchtower as the first wights were coming over the wall. Tormund roared and killed one monster before grabbing Bran unceremoniously and hefting the young man over his broad shoulder. Brienne guarded their backs as they retreated down the stairs.

 

The had nearly made it back to the Great Hall when the dead poured out of a side hallway, nearly surrounding them. Even with only one arm, Tormund was a capable fighter, and he and Brienne slashed and stabbed their way through the throng. As they got closer to the Hall, Brienne looked to Pod to confirm the door was still open. He had his eyes fixed on her, and she saw the monster leap at him in slow motion.

"No!" she screamed, already in motion but trying and failing to move faster, to prevent the attack that was already happening.

Pod hit the ground under the creature and managed to get his knife out of his belt before the wight bit the side of his throat. He stabbed upward and reduced it to dust, but the creature had taken a chunk out of his neck. Brienne grabbed him under the arms and dragged him to the relative safety of the Hall, and the doors were slammed shut and bolted.

Brienne dropped to her knees, her armor clanking. She cradled her protege's head in her hands as he bled out. No death on the field this night could've prepared her from the fear of losing Pod. He tried to speak, and she leaned down to hear him.

"...Proud..." his blood covered lips managed.

She whispered in his ear, "It is I that am proud of you, Ser Poddrick Payne. You are a credit to your House and to the country of Westeros."

He grinned at her, his teeth tinted pink even in the torch light. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was gone. She sobbed, her head falling.

Strong arms encircled her, and Tormund was there. She felt his tears fall on her, and she held his arms to her.

 

###  The Great Hall

Someone had taken his body to an out-of-the-way alcove and covered him with a cloth, his sword laying on his chest as was the custom for knights. Ser Brienne nursed her drink. Someone had poured a healthy amount of liquor in it, and the burn in her veins helped numb the grief. Quono came over to her, carrying Bran. 

"I can speak Dothraki," Bran said as a greeting.

Brienne sniffed and said nothing.

"I know how to get us out of here," he continued. "If we stay here, we'll die."

She looked at him, wanting so badly to lash out and hurt him. But it wouldn't bring back her friend. So she said, "How?"

The Three Eyed Raven pointed at a statue in the corner of the Hall. "You have to break Bran's great-uncle." 

 

Overhead and around them, they could hear the monsters tearing apart the castle to get at the living flesh they were being denied. The soldiers worked quickly, tying ropes around the statue. They pulled the statue down, and then shifted the plinth. A dank tunnel was revealed, and Brienne sighed in relief. She and the other generals organized the evacuation. Grateful for a shred of hope, the soldiers didn't push each other or whine. 

 

Grey Worm and Quono insisted they be the last ones into the tunnel. "We're going to set a few traps," Grey Worm told her grimly. "You go."

Her second-in-command followed her into the tunnel silently. He handed her a torch. She followed the soldiers cautiously, hating that she was in the back and not leading them. The cool stone walls were covered in moss and fungi and she heard a skittering sound. Well, in an emergency, she'd rather eat rats than her men. They walked for what felt like miles before the quality of the air changed. Brienne marveled at the neat stone steps that led out of the tunnel through... a tree? She stepped out of the tunnel and onto snow. In the light of the few flickering torches, she could see the red leaves of a Weirwood tree. 

"We're in the Godswood?" she gasped. 

Sansa Stark was coming through the crowd of people that just soldiers but also their wives and children. Sansa spread her hands. "Welcome to the last safe place in Winterfell."

"What do mean 'safe'?" Brienne demanded. 

Sansa pointed to the edge of the Grove. Wights had clustered around, but couldn't seem to step onto the sacred land. Brienne's mouth dropped open.

"Not only can they not come here, the magic of the place seems to be helping the wounded stay alive." Sansa shook her head. "If I had known this place existed..." her voice broke and she trailed off. Brienne needed to get away, now. She excused herself and moved toward a tree that was as lonely as her heart. She knelt down awkwardly, her heavy armor hindering even simple movements like sitting down on the ground. A wave of anger and loss rose inside her and she punched the ground. It hurt. It felt good. She did it again, and again, and again, enjoying the pain in her hand. He was suddenly kneeling beside her, and he grabbed at her hand.

"I know how hard you punch, lass. Don't be wanting broken fingers."

She yanked her hand away from him. "Don't touch me." She stared at Tormund, furious that he was alive and Pod was dead. No, she realized. She was furious at herself for being alive. She looked away and saw the scholar embracing a sweet-faced woman holding a baby. In the other direction she could see Grey Worm holding the diplomat Missandei. Friends and comrades shared food and water and blankets. Comfort and warmth. 

"Poddrick should be here," she whispered, her voice breaking. 

Tormund sighed. "Aye. He should. A lot of people should. But these people are here, and many of them wouldn't have been without you."

She glared at him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He looked away. "No, I don't think it was." He looked back at her. "It was a reminder that your duty to the living isn't done yet, Ser Brienne. I think you have some time to grieve your friend, and then they'll need your strength and your courage."

Brienne wiped her face. "I haven't cried since I was a girl."

Tormund gave her a sad smile. "I haven't cried since I was a girl, neither."

Against her will, she started laughing. "You're an idiot."

"Aye," he agreed. "But I'm your idiot, as long as you'll have me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Today I'm posting from Indiana! I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it (although I cried more than once).


	13. Airborne and Shipshape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The race is on.

###  Barrowton

Rhaegal landed hard on the ground outside the shipmaster's cottage. Arya didn't even care that she could feel the landing in her teeth, she was just glad to scramble off the dragon and try to work some feeling back into her fingers. The ride had taken hours, and she suspected it was because Rhaegal wasn't used to carrying more than one person, let alone five.

As everyone climbed down, the shipmaster came out of his cottage with a torch and a knife. He looked angry, but before he could say anything, he saw Rhaegal and his mouth fell open. 

From his mount, Jon pointed at the man. "Since you aren't fighting for the living at Winterfell, you have another chance to serve." The dragon bunched up der muscles and jumped, wings pumping as they climbed into the sky. The massive shadow turned South and was gone as a cloud bank moved in.

The man looked at the four people standing in front of him in horror. "What did 'e mean by that?" he demanded.

Theon Greyjoy stepped forward. "We need a ship to take us to Pyke."

The shipmaster snorted. "Then you can wait until the morn."

Sandor Clegane growled, "Look here, you miserable pile of dog shit..." but before he could finish, Ser Jaime Lannister grabbed Sandor's arm and flashed a bright smile at the glowering man. "We're in a terrible hurry, and we can pay you for your trouble."

The man considered this. "How much?"

Jaime negotiated with the man as the others tried to hide their agitation. Finally, a price was settled and the men shook hands, quite awkwardly.

Arya had been impressed with Jaime simply for not falling off the dragon with only one hand. She wasn't sure if she could've done the same.

The shipmaster went into his cottage with the gold and came back dressed with a bag of food and oiled cloaks for each of them. He saw Arya's puzzled look and told her, "It's a damp journey."

They boarded his fastest ship in silence, and they were off.

 

###  Pyke

By the time the four travelers reached the Iron Islands, Arya was soaked to the bone and ready to kill someone. Sandor was in the same mood. Jaime was quiet, and Theon had been standing at the prow for hours, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead.

As Theon and the shipmaster brought the boat to the pier at Pyke, Sandor let out a snort. "Here come the fucking pirates."

Grim faced men and the occasional woman were lined up on the dock. At the front of the group was Yara Greyjoy. 

A gang plank was set for the small group, and Theon rushed down it to embrace his sister. "Yara!"

She grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. "I never thought I would see you again," she murmured, her eyes closed.

"I didn't either," he admitted. "But Yara, we need your help."

She stepped away and studied his companions. 

"How did you know we were coming?" Sandor asked with suspicion.

"My 'fucking pirates' told me," she smiled sweetly.

"We need to get to King's Landing," Arya said, feeling impatience bordering on desperation.

Yara laughed. "By ship? Why didn't you just ride down the King's Road?"

"There isn't time!" Theon's face was twisted with fear. "The Night King used the attack on Winterfell as a distraction to march on King's Landing, and he's flying there on a dragon!"

The Queen of the Ironborn stared at her brother for a moment. She shrugged. "Well, alright then. Why didn't you just say so?"

 

###  Tumbleton 

It wasn't a safe journey, but it was fast. Yara and her crew took them down the coast, the ship slipping through the fading shadows of the night. At the Shield Islands, they 'traded' the larger ship for a smaller one and set off up the Mander river. 

They passed Highgarden in the early dawn, the crew shooting looks at Jaime, who pretended not to see them.

 

At Tumbleton, the furthest point on the river, they disembarked from the 'borrowed' boat. Jaime and Arya found a farmer willing to part with five horses for the right amount of gold, and the group set off with Jaime in the lead and Yara bringing up the back.

Arya's heart pounded with nerves.  _ Hur-ry, hur-ry hur-ry _ , it whispered. 

So she did.

 

###  In the Air 

Daenerys and Drogon had been chasing the army of the dead for hours before she remembered there was food and water packed in her saddle bags. She felt terribly guilty that Drogon wasn't able to stop to eat and rest. Through squinted eyes, Daenerys could sometimes see the land beneath them. Once, she thought she saw a marching army, but when she flew through thick clouds, she couldn't find them again. 

She blessed Jon again and again for the saddles, and cursed her impulsive nature for leaving him. The two of them should be chasing the godsdamned Night King together. They were always stronger together.  _ This is the last time,  _ she promised herself silently. _ I won't leave him again. _


	14. A Very Large Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon-typical violence and reminder of rape

###  King's Landing

At dawn, Cersei Lannister listened to the Hand of the Queen give his report with growing anger. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. The monsters were supposed to finish destroying her enemies at Winterfell, not leave the castle under siege while marching on  _ her _ . She didn't have much to bargain with a dead man for.

"I received a raven from our friend in Barrowton, your grace."

Her attention was on Qyburn, willing her eyes to burn him. He didn't flinch, the bloodless prick. "It is likely that Jon Snow, the Targaryen girl, and others are traveling here to cut off the Night King, but their presence in the city would be dangerous."

"Are the gates closed?" Cersei snapped.

Her Hand nodded. "They've been closed since we got word the army marches South."

"Good." She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Get the Scorpions ready. Shoot any dragon they see out of the sky. And once the Night King is dealt with, the Golden Company has my permission to kill anyone they don't recognize as a citizen of King's Landing."

"And Greyjoy?"

Her lip curled in disgust. "Send the buffoon back to his ship and tell him to guard the bay." She took a deep drink of wine. "When this is all over, have him killed. Make it look like an accident."

Qyburn's empty eyes were alight in sadistic joy. "Of course, your grace." He bowed himself out.

Cersei continued drumming her fingers on her chair and wondered if the Night King was interested in taking a Queen.

 

###  The King's Road

At dawn, the Night King landed the dead dragon near the White Walker who served as his general. The first Walkers had been men from his tribe of First Men. It hadn't been until Craster made his deal, some 40 years ago, that the Walker ranks had swelled from the dozens into the hundreds. Each boy child left in the woods had been turned, had become Other, had become a follower of the Great Other. For the privilege of raping his own daughters, Craster had sold his sons to the Lord of Death and Darkness. 

The creatures that had made him had worshipped life, but had taken his life to save their own. As a man, he hadn't believed in destiny. But in his dark rebirth, he had seen the truth. The true power was Death, and it was his destiny to bring death to each in their turn. The Great Other had shown him that his path led to the Iron Throne.

He smiled and pointed at the city below them. The dragon spread its wings and flew over the city. The Night King watched as blue fire erupted over the villages outside the city gate.

The army of Others began to march on the city. Walkers as ancient as Westeros marched alongside youngsters barely larger than the spears they carried. He controlled them all, and soon, he would control everything.

  
  


###  At the Old Gate

Ser Jaime Lannister pushed through the crowd at the Old Gate. He hadn't expected it to be closed yet. It was more foolish to go through the gate, but he had argued for it since it was faster. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Clegane's smug face when the man was proven right.

A guard was standing on a barrel and shouting through the gate. Jaime tried to make out his words. "...need to go back to your homes! The city will be under attack shortly! Any attempt to breach the city wall will be met with violence..."

Jaime turned away and caught a full dose of Sandor smirking. 

"Problem, Ser Jaime?" The scarred man sneered.

Jaime tried to ignore him, leaning toward the others. "I know of an entrance along the beach. It opens under the castle."

"Does Cersei know about it?" Arya asked.

"I don't think so," he told her. "Tyrion showed it to me, and he never shared that kind of thing with her."

"Then let's go." Yara spoke for the group. They turned South and made their way through the crowd, as the energy started to go from nervous to angry. 

"They're gonna riot soon," Sandor muttered.

As they reached the edge of the crowd, loud voices became shouts and screams. Bodies started shoving back and forth. A man grabbed Arya by the arm and the Catspaw dagger was buried in his chest before Theon could pull him off. Arya's eyes were as wide as the stranger's, and the tight crowd kept the dead man on his feet long after the group had slipped away.

 

It took them too long to get to Blackwater Rush and the rocky beach below the Keep. They had skirted the wall as much as possible, but they had seen so much needless violence. The fish market was in shambles. Blood was washing out to sea, staining the sand and stones. Yara had seen massacres before, but even she was shaken by the brutality.

"This is the Golden Company," she told them. "The Lannister army would never have done this."

Jaime kept his eyes forward and looked for the hidden pathway between the boulders. He had to get to Cersei before the Night King did. A thought shivered along his spine.  _ Or before Arya finds her. _

He pushed the thought away and searched until he found what he was looking for: a hidden tunnel disguised as a tumble of rocks. Inside the passageway, the world was silent. No screaming, no dying peasants, no certain death marching on the city. The tunnel led them up into the food storage area underneath the palace kitchens. Yara nicked five apples from a sack, and they paused to eat, sitting on boxes and barrels.

"We're all here on different missions, aren't we?" Arya asked.

Theon looked at his sister. 

"Euron," Yara agreed.

"My fucking brother," Sandor snarled.

Jaime and Arya looked at each other and quietly said together, "Cersei."

"None of it matters until the Night King has been killed," Arya stated. "Until that happens, I'm here because Jon and Daenerys need me, not to settle any debts."

"Agreed," Sandor growled.

"Agreed," the others chimed.

"I don't know what the rest of you are going to do, but Theon and I are going to get our hands on one of those Scorpions." Yara cracked her knuckles. "I've been dying to shoot one since I heard about them in the Battle on the Gold Road."

Jaime looked at the other two. "And I suppose we're all going in the same direction, aren't we?"

Clegane looked at Arya, who was cleaning her dagger. "Aye, I suppose we are. Lot of good that'll do us all."

  
  


###  In the Air

Daenerys had banked east to avoid the ships in the bay as well as any icy projectiles coming from the dead army. She could see her child ahead of her, dead, burning what should've been der home city. Her face twisted in grief and rage, and she flew Drogon directly at Wight Viserion. Drogon suddenly jerked hard, and Daenerys' left foot slipped out of the broken stirrup, dangling wildly over the city. She cried out in shock. Drogon bucked, and Daenerys threw herself flat over the saddle. Her child turned to look back at her, and in horror, she saw blank, white eyes. Drogon opened der mouth, and Daenerys saw flames rise from der gullet. With a roar, Rhaegal swooped past, and she saw Jon turning the dragon to circle beneath her. With a defiant scream, Daenerys pulled herself off her saddle and jumped into the air. Flames caught the side of her face, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that Jon would see her and...

He caught her arm, nearly falling out of his own saddle and dislocating her shoulder from the force. 

He held her as she climbed up in front of him, and together, they turned Rhaegal to face both of der siblings.


	15. The Fall of the Red Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates, dragons, Cleganes! Oh My! Warning for canon-typical violence, mention of rape

 

###  On the Ramparts 

Coming out of the kitchens, Theon Greyjoy was about to round a corner when a group of Golden Company soldiers came down the hall. Yara Greyjoy grabbed him and pulled him back, silently clapping a hand over his mouth. After the mercenaries passed, Theon glared at her. "I wasn't going to scream."

She flashed a mischievous grin. "Sorry! Force of habit."

They crept down the hall. Near the stairs, the flooring changed from rough stone to smooth marble. Yara rolled her eyes. "I guess the nobles wanted to come down at least this far." 

A cultured and foreign voice said sharply, "What are you doing? Why have you not evacuated?" 

Yara turned to him and feigned innocence. "Oh, thank you, ser! I was so scared everyone had gone without me!"

Theon faded into the shadows until the soldier walked over and grabbed her arm. He thumped the man in the head with the pommel of his sword, and the man went down. They dragged him off to a pantry and stripped him. Theon tried to get his sister to put on the uniform, but she refused.

"I'll get the next one, and in the meantime, you can pretend to have caught me, if anyone sees us."

Yara's plan worked, and in her new uniform with her hair pulled back, she did look rather like a man. 

"Wait," Theon said, studying her. "Where did your tits go?"

She winked at him. "Sorry, trade secret."

He stifled a laugh, and they walked briskly toward the stone steps that would take them to the ramparts where the Scorpions were mounted. 

A harried looking Captain ran up to them. "Where have you been? The walls have been breached! Get to your station!" 

They ran where he pointed, and Theon began loading the Scorpion. Yara stood behind it, her hand on the trigger mechanism, her eye on Viserion. Dhe was easy to spot, since dhe was the only dragon breathing blue fire. She inhaled, and when she exhaled, she fired the Scorpion. Theon's head snapped to follow the course of the bolt as it fired with terrifying speed and force. 

With a savage crunch, the bolt connected with Viserion's leg. The monster didn't react to the wound, continuing der attack on the city. 

Theon grabbed another quarrel and loaded the Scorpion as fast as he could. Yara gritted her teeth as she followed the course of the dead dragon through the weapon's sight. Another inhale, and as she slowly exhaled, a large hand came down on her shoulder. The bolt shot wildly, missing the dragon by yards.

Yara was spun around by a large, angry man. "Who the fuck are you?" He shouted.

Theon plunged a knife into the man's back and grabbed his arm, throwing him over the edge of the rampart. 

"Theon," Yara said urgently. 

When he looked up, they were surrounded by Golden Company soldiers with swords drawn.

  
  


###  In the Air

Jon and Daenerys watched from Rhaegal’s back as Drogon turned warg-blinded eyes to the city of King’s Landing and unleashed a torrent of fire upon the homes and people. Coming from the other direction, Viserion joined in. Thatched roofs went up like tinder. Wooden joists and scaffolding burned slower but burned just the same. Stone scorched and melted.

“What do you want to do, love?” Jon asked, grief ripping at his heart. 

Daenerys tightened her hold on Rhaegal’s reins. “I want to stop them.”

Jon planted his hands firmly on her waist. Daenerys cried out to Rhaegal, and they turned sharply. Rhaegal dove, catching Viserion in the back of the neck with der cruel talons. Over the top of the undead dragon they flipped, Rhaegal releasing der the dead dragon with a roar. Viserion was flung like a doll made from scraps of rags, unable to catch derself before slamming into the construction site that used to be the Sept of Baelor. The new masonry tumbled into the streets below as Viserion shook derself and launched into the sky. 

Jon scanned the city below. At the Iron Gate, the Night King stood. He was flanked by his White Walkers. Jon spoke into Daenerys’ ear, and they plunged down, low over the marching army of Others. When they pulled out of the swoop, Jon was triumphant. “He’s trying to control them both! If we can pull his attention away, he might make a mistake.”

Without looking back, the Queen nodded. “But we can’t lose Drogon, Jon. We can’t.”

He squeezed her shoulder, mind racing. “We won’t, love. I promise.”

Drogon dove at them then, and they raced away from the center of the city toward River Row. Viserion stayed near the Others, breaching the city for der Master. Daenerys turned her head back and forth, trying to keep both dragons in her sight.

A bolt fired from a Scorpion on the outer wall of the castle hit Viserion in the leg. Even though she knew he was dead, knew he couldn’t feel it, Daenerys still screamed in fear for her child. Bolts whizzed past them, Rhaegal dodging and dipping to avoid them.

“We have to land!” Jon shouted over Rhagal’s thunderous roaring. “There!” He pointed to a courtyard on the other side of the castle wall. 

“Dracarys!” Daenerys screamed. 

Rhaegal blasted the top of the wall with fire, and the Scorpions on that section of the wall were consumed in flames so hot, the weapons were nearly reduced to ashes. The three of them flew through the flames and landed roughly in the courtyard. A sudden wave of deja Vu staggered her.

“Jon, I have to get to the throne room,” Daenerys gasped.

“What are you going to do?” he asked her. 

She met his gaze. "You won't like it."

“Aye, that’s a fact,” he muttered. “Go already, before I change my mind and act like an overprotective ass.”

Daenerys whirled and ran, her silver hair shining for a moment until she pulled her dark hood over her hair.

Jon climbed back into his saddle. Rhaegal shook derself, getting ready to jump.

“We can’t,” Jon spoke to the dragon. “They’ll shoot us out of...” He realized then that he hadn’t heard the whizz and crunch of Scorpion bolts in several minutes. He scanned the sky. The dragons were still destroying the city, but the barrage of artillery had stopped. 

Jon bared his teeth. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Rhaegal bunched up der muscles and leapt into the sky.

  
  
  


###  The Red Keep

Sandor Clegane frowned at his unwanted company. Arya Stark ignored him, but Jaime Lannister glanced at him uneasily when he thought the older man wasn’t looking. The corridors of the Red Keep were in an uproar as Lords, Ladies, servants, soldiers, and civilians rushed past, believing if they could just get to safety, they would survive. Sandor almost pitied them. None of them were going to live through this.

Arya’s head swung to the right and she froze, like a pointer scenting prey. Both men turned as if in slow motion. On the balcony opposite, they watched a richly embroidered skirt swish around a corner, a shadow the side of a mountain lumbering in its wake.

Jaime’s instincts screamed for him to warn her, run to her. Before he could move or even decide to ignore them, a thin hand grabbed his arm, and a thinner sword poked his ribs.

“Not a word,” Arya warned.

Sandor jumped over the balcony and rode a tearing lannister sigil to the garden a single floor below. He dropped the banner in disgust and bellowed, “Gregor! Gregor, you fucking whore cunt!”

Arya faded into the shadows. “Now you can go get her.”

Jaime went at once. He called her name, running frantically until he found her. 

Cersei gasped at the sight of him. Filthy, unshaven, and somehow  _ here.  _ “Jaime, I-”

He cut her off as he took her in his arms and hugged her. When they broke apart, he looked furtively over his shoulder. “We have to go, now.”

  
  
  


###  In the Garden

Gregor Clegane, or whatever was left of him, advanced down a carved staircase of sand colored-marble, his beetle-black eyes the only part of his face that was alive. Through the eye slit of the enormous helmet, Sandor could see flesh mottled blue and purple, and a pouchy, sucking mouth. Sandor bared his teeth like a dog and pulled his sword. 

The Mountain charged at his brother hard, faster than Sandor expected. He swung at his brother while spinning away. The blow hit armor and bounced off. Sandor gritted his teeth. Gregor pulled his own sword, the blade nearly as long as a man. He hacked and slashed toward his younger brother, forcing Sandor to duck behind a statue to avoid being killed. Stone rained down over him as the Mountain hit the statue. Sandor rolled away as Gregor brought his sword down on the place the Hound had been crouching. As he sprang to his feet, he scooped up a handful of pulverized stone dust, earth, and marble shards. When the Mountain came close again, Sandor threw the debris into the slit in his brother's helmet. 

Gregor bellowed in anger, and stomped around blind, crashing into other statues and trampling the beautiful plants around the paths. Sandor lunged at him, driving the tip of his sword into his brother's side. The Mountain roared, and swung his huge arm backward, catching his brother in the chest and knocking him to the ground. The Mountain brushed the dirt from his eyes and located his brother crawling away. Gregor advanced on Sandor, raising his sword to drive it into his younger brother.

A dragon strafed the castle, spewing fire. Part of the wall around the garden fell away, and Sandor could see the city below, burning. His skin crawled, but he remembered killing the dead at Winterfell, at the crackle and smoky stench of the flaming swords that saved his life. He climbed to his feet and attacked his brother with everything in him, forcing the slower man to parry thrusts too fast to see. Sandor landed superficial hits on Gregor, enraging the unstable and experimented-upon golem.

The Mountain had superior strength, and caught Sandor's sword with his bare hand. The smaller man gaped, as no blood came out of the deep cut. Growling, Gregor pulled the sword closer and strained until the steel snapped in his hand. Triumphant, the Mountain threw the blade behind him and came closer, his massive sword dragging loudly on the flagstone path. Sandor stood his ground. He would  _ never _ cower from this monster, never again. 

A blur behind the Mountain resolved into Arya Stark, jumping onto his back from the balcony above. He roared and staggered, trying to shake her off. Sandor could see that she had blades in his shoulders. 

The Mountain dropped his sword and used both hands to dislodge Arya. He threw her as hard as he could, and she crumpled against the wall. Gregor looked for his sword.

Sandor stood, holding the enormous sword with both hands. The Mountain let out a bellow and charged. Sandor swung the sword, and Gregor fell, his leg cut off above the knee. 

Over the sounds of anger and pain, Sandor walked to the place where his brother lay. "Someone should've done this years ago, you bastard." He opened Gregor's stomach, stepping back as entrails slid out, covered in a thick, dark substance that wasn't blood. He stood over the man who had held a little boy in a fire, who had murdered children, who had raped countless women. He lifted the sword and brought it down, cutting through the Mountain's neck. His brother's head rolled, the beetle-black eyes finally still.

Sandor's body sagged as tension he had been carrying his whole life was released. He was free. He... was just as bad as his brother. He deserved to die too. He looked at the hole in the wall and moved toward it. The garden was hundreds of feet over the city of King's Landing. There was nothing between him and the air. He could take three steps and...

A small hand grabbed his arm, and he growled. The sound reminded him so much of his brother, he immediately felt sick. 

Arya glared at him, tears in her eyes. "Don't you dare."

  
  



	16. The Dragon's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yara and Theon aren't done, Jaime and Cersei can't catch a break, and Daenerys has a date with destiny. Canon-typical violence.

###  On the Ramparts

Yara Greyjoy kicked a soldier in the chest, throwing herself backward hard enough to miss the sword that would have sliced her in half. She punched the officer in the ear as his sword clanged on the dirty stone. Behind her, Theon Greyjoy grunted. She finished off the officer before whirling around in time to see her brother on the ground, driving his elbow into the groin of the man who held him by the throat. The soldier hit the floor and Theon plunged his sword through the man’s stomach. Yara stood still, panting and listening. When no one rushed them, she nodded at her brother. She sheathed her filthy blade and ran back to the Scorpion, _my_ _Scorpion,_ she thought, stroking the metal. 

A perfect second-in-command, Theon was already loading the machine. Yaya surveyed the air through the Scorpion’s sight, the platform rotating slowly.  _ There _ . This time Theon had her back guarded as she took a breath, her finger tightening on the trigger. She exhaled and pulled. The bolt shot into the air over King’s Landing. 

When Drogon took an unexpected dive toward Viserion, Yara clapped a hand to her mouth. The two Greyjoys watched the trajectory of the huge bolt and prayed to the Drowned God that it miss  _ Please let it miss _ . The Night King might be controlling Drogon right now, but the Queen would be furious if they hurt der dragon.

The bolt whistled by Drogon’s ear and fell toward the besieged city. Yara felt a pang of guilt for whoever was unlucky enough to be where the monstrous quarrel fell. But that gave her an idea. Grinning wickedly, she swiveled the platform. The idiots had certainly thought of everything, even a dragon attack from the bay. 

“Yara...” Theon warned.

She spun back around, sighted the dead dragon flying directly at them, and fired the loaded Scorpion. The bolt caught Viserion in the soft meat of der belly, and with a roar, the dragon exploded into dust. Theon whooped in joy. Yara turned the platform again.

“Keep loading.” She closed one eye and aimed at the _ Silence. _ “We aren’t done yet.”

  
  


 

###  The Lower Pantry

The Lannister twins sprinted down the corridor, slowing as a loud rumble shook the castle.

“Jaime,” Cersei wailed as the ceiling came apart over their heads. He shoved her forward and ducked as stone fragments showered down. A large stone fell, and then another and another. He threw himself through the closest doorway. The building swayed and groaned under the attack. When it stopped, he opened his eyes and nearly wept at the blocked corridor.

“Cersei?” he called, ready to start screaming for his sister. “Cersei!”

“Jaime!” Her voice was muffled.

“Are you hurt?” Jaime shouted, trying to move any of the massive rocks with one hand. Impossible. He hung his head.  _ So close. So close. _

“No, I’m fine! Are you hurt? Can you get through?” she called.

“No, I have to find another way. I’ll be alright.” His mind spun as he tried to think of how to get to her, of where they could meet, of how to relay such information in a way that a listening enemy wouldn’t understand him.

“Jaime,” Cersei sounded calm. She always sounded calm in an emergency. 

“I’m here,” he moaned, the tears almost choking him.

“Do you remember the place I fell off that wretched horse?” 

Despite his surroundings, he laughed. “Yes.”

“Meet me there, darling. I’m going to run there as fast as I can. I love you, Jaime.”

He pressed his good hand to the stone between them. “I love you.” When he couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the wall, he sank down on a boulder that had once been a very nice vaulted ceiling. 

“Ser Jaime?” a shy voice asked hesitantly.

A serving girl with a round face and equally round body climbed out from underneath a table he hadn’t noticed in the room off the corridor. 

He swiped his face with the back of his hand. “Hello.”

The girl stared at him with huge blue eyes. “Are you alright, Ser?”

He shook his head, not even embarrassed to be crying in front of a servant. “No, miss. I am not alright.”

She fidgeted uncomfortably. Jaime understood why. If a servant had caught Cersei or Joffrey crying, that servant would have been punished for being unlucky enough to see them be vulnerable. Tyrion had always hated that behavior, but it hadn’t really bothered Jaime until now. He took a gulping breath and tried to calm his racing mind. “No, miss. I need to get out of the Keep, and I don’t know if any of the exits I even know about are clear of rubble or White Walkers.” He closed his eyes, defeated.

“What about the lower pantry, Ser?”

His eyes opened, narrowed at her. “What?”

The young woman was wearing a thoughtful frown. “Most people don’t know that the lower pantry has a door to the street. The Cook uses it to accept deliveries from... unusual vendors.” She trailed off as she realized how dangerous that information might be in the wrong hands.

Jaime got to his feet. He extended his left hand to the servant. “What’s your name, miss?”

She ignored his hand and bobbed a curtsy. “Sarah, Ser Jaime.”

He pulled himself to his full height. He was a lion, godsdammit. “Allow this old knight to escort you to the lower pantry, Miss Sarah?”

Sarah’s round face lit up as she laughed at him. “Come on, Ser. It’s this way.”

 

Sarah the maid had a light step and an uncanny ability to fade into the wall behind her when danger was nearby. Jaime discovered this one floor above the lower pantry. White Walkers ambled up a flight of stairs, their joints moving at different speeds. Jaime found himself alone until a round hand grabbed him and pulled him behind a heavy woven tapestry. Sarah held a finger to her lips and he nodded at her. He wondered at the alcove hidden by the tapestry. It was the perfect size for...

“Did people hide from the family in here?” he breathed.

She shushed him silently, her expressive face showing her incredulity at his foolishness. She listened, and nodded at his question. “Of course we did. Your family was awful.”

Jaime couldn’t even be offended by her honesty. Between Robert’s entitled belief that every person in Westeros belonged to him, Joffrey’s unpredictable violence, and Cersei’s vicious anger, being a servant in the Baratheon/ Lannister palace had probably been a dangerous place indeed.

Sarah pulled him out of the alcove and down the hall, turning down so many narrow, dim passageways that Jaime knew he would never have been able to find his way through them. She finally stopped in front of a wooden door. When she tried the knob, she found it to be locked.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would be locked. I’m sorry!”

Jaime pulled Sarah out of the way. “Stay here.” He stepped in front of the door and aimed his powerful leg at the spot in the door closest to the latch. The latch broke, and the door swung open. Sarah crept into the dark room and felt through it until she could feel the door to the alley. She slid the heavy bolt slowly until it clicked. She tried the knob.

Behind her, Jaime stepped from foot to foot, excited and terrified. 

The alley door opened, and nothing happened. Jaime caught Sarah’s arm and went through the door first, blinking in the afternoon light after the dark of the pantry. He stepped into the stinking alley and for a shining moment, it was the sweetest stink he had ever smelled. 

A bellow from the far end of the alley made his stomach drop. Not twenty feet away were two White Walkers, their bones visible through their tattered clothing.

Ser Jaime Lannister the golden lion drew his sword and stepped toward them. “Run, Miss Sarah.”

“No!” she protested.

“It is my honor to protect such a fine lady as yourself,” he said pompously. “Now run.”

When he heard her light footsteps fading down the alley, he stepped toward the Walkers.

“You must be lost,” he said, arrogance dripping from each word. 

The Walkers rushed at him. The Golden Lion roared and ran forward.

  
  


 

###  In the Throne Room

Daenerys Targaryen had never been in the Throne Room of the Red Keep, except in a fever dream in the House of the Undying. But she knew she was in the correct place the second she walked through the archway. The Iron Throne lay before her, as it had in her dream. And like the dream created by the Undying, she knew the throne was a distraction from the real danger lurking.

As she strode into the room with all the grace she could muster, the Night King stepped out from behind the throne. His smile was razor sharp ice.

In Valyrian, he said, “I knew you would come.”

She answered him in her mother tongue. “I knew you would be here.”

He approached her slowly. “Why are you here?”

“I have come to be your queen.” Daenerys lifted her chin and met his eyes, her face bare of emotion.

The Night King extended his hand, and Daenerys slipped her left hand into his. The chill began in her fingertips before spreading to her palm. She watched without reacting as her hand froze, the icy grey creeping up her arm.

As they glided back to the Iron Throne together, the Night King told her, “Once I sit on the throne of men, the darkness of the Great Other will cover the world.” 

At the foot of the steps leading up to the legendary seat of power, Daenerys stopped.

He turned to her, his brilliantly blue eyes narrowing.

“A kiss,” she said. “A kiss to seal the fate of men.”

The Night King smiled a cold, hard smile and leaned down to kiss his bride.

The Dragon Queen pulled a long, thin dragonglass knife from the hidden sheath on her thigh and stabbed the Night King in the heart with all the strength she had.

His eyes went wide with rage, and the last words spoken between them came from her lips.

“But we are not men,” Daenerys whispered.

The Night King dissolved into ashes and smoke.


	17. What We Say To the God of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greyjoys face off, the fate of Daenerys' hand is revealed, and the Lannister twins reunite. Warning for major character death and canon-typical violence.

###  The Stinking Alley

Jaime Lannister had fought valiantly.

Well, alright. So he had fought like shit. But he had lived. And the Walkers were nothing but dust.

He hit a wall hard enough to stun himself. His left hand was under his tunic, pressed to the gut wound leaking blood. 

He spat on the ground in defiance. He would make it to her.

  
  


###  In the City

Captain Harry Strickland looked down at the piles of dust that had moments ago been terrifying monsters. He looked at his men. He looked at the frozen peasants, cowering as they watched the mercenaries. How many of his men had died fighting to protect them? How many men from Essos had he trained just to fight and die for these Westerosi peasants?

Qyburn’s last instruction echoed through his mind.  _ “Queen Cersei has given you permission to kill anyone who doesn’t look like a citizen of King’s Landing.” _

How the fuck should he know what a citizen of King’s Landing looked like? 

His rage needed a target. “Kill everyone.”

The soldiers drew their swords and advanced on the frightened crowd.

  
  


###  On the Beach

Euron Greyjoy stumbled out of the tavern house on River Row, unafraid of dragons and drunk enough to take on the whole of the Golden Company single-handed. The guards at the Mud Gate had abandoned their posts, so Euron staggered through the gate unchallenged. He uncorked his wine skin with one hand as he set his sights on the  _ Silence _ and trudged through the wet sand on the berm. Sour wine spilled out of the corner of his mouth and dripped down his jerkin. He didn’t care. He wanted the comfort of his ship around him, and his pirates to jump at his every order.  _ These city assholes just don’t have the proper respect,  _ he thought. Euron grinned nastily at the idea of teaching them the proper respect.  _ And that bitch queen, too. _

He was wrapped up in evil thoughts when the first quarrel shot from the Scorpions mounted on the ramparts of the Red Keep hit the  _ Silence  _ and the ship seemed to explode into splinters.

Euron howled and rushed forward, the wine skin forgotten on the beach as waves lapped his boots and trousers. “You cunts! You cunts!” he screamed. In horror, he watched as the Iron Fleet was picked off, ship by ship. The Ironborn that had enough time jumped into the bay and swam for shore, but as the debris from the rest of the fleet landed in the water, his men were lost beneath the lapping waves.

He turned to the walls of the cursed city and twice cursed Keep and instead of the battalion of traitorous Golden Company dogs, he could make out two figures. Yara and Theon. Euron ground his teeth in fury.

“Come down and face me, you little shits!” he shrieked at them. “I’ll have you for this! I’ll have you!”

One of the figures appeared at the edge of the wall. 

“Uncle!” Yara shouted cheerfully. “I did some redecorating! Do you like it?”

“I’m going to kill you, you bitch!” Euron screamed. “Get down here and face me!”

She pointed her sword at him. “It will be my greatest pleasure. Don’t go anywhere.”

Go anywhere?  _ Go anywhere? _ He would make sails from her hide and sail away on her brother’s bones. He paced the beach, growing angrier and less sane by the minute as he waited for the two whelps to face him like men.

They walked out of the Mud Gate minutes later. Theon standing straight and tall like a right proper Stark bitch and Yara slouching and swaggering in front of him. He could practically smell the Iron and salt in her blood. She walked right up to him like she had not a care in the world, dressed in a Golden Company uniform that was streaked in drying blood.

Euron stared at his brother’s children. “Why?” he demanded, swinging his sword wildly. “Why didn’t you help me take it all?”

Theon laughed. It sounded like a bark. “Take it all? You can’t take a shit without help.”

Yara pursed her lips. “You were never going to be king of anything, Euron. But I’m not like you. I’m not like father either. I know how to change with the times. I know how to survive peace.”

Euron spat a glob of phlegm at her feet. She didn’t flinch. “Your father was shit.”

“He may have been shit, but he wasn't yours to kill.” Yara drew her sword.

Euron drew his own sword and swung on her. She dodged him artfully and thrust back at him, nicking his elbow. Hot blood soaked his sleeve. He snarled at her and lunged again. Yara parried him easily, knocking him to the side with a wiry strength he didn’t expect. He stumbled and nearly dropped his weapon. Yara advanced on her uncle, her grey eyes so cold. 

“I am the Queen of the Ironborn, and you are nothing.” He lifted his sword and she kicked him in the chest. He doubled over, gasping. He scrabbled for a handful of sand to fling into her eyes, an old trick. But before he could touch the first grain, she slapped his hand with the flat of her blade. Stung and chastised, he couldn’t think of any way to win. So he called her a whore.

The blow came without warning. A punch in the ribs that knocked him to his knees. Euron turned, and Theon stood over him. “No one here is a greater whore than you, Euron.”

“Fuck you, you neutered cunt,” Euron snapped.

The sword was in his chest before he saw her move.

Yara leaned over him. “His balls were taken by the enemy. But you never had any to begin with.” She twisted the blade and let him bleed out on the sand.

Yara looked at Theon, anger and pain twisting her face. “He doesn’t deserve to be taken by the sea.”

Theon touched her shoulder. “Let the Drowned God take him anyway. He’ll be birdshit before too long.”

Yara wiped her sword on her filthy trousers and sheathed her weapon. She let her brother take her into his arms. 

“You did well, Yara,” he murmured. “I’m proud of you.”

A scream broke through the quiet on the beach. Another joined it. Both Greyjoys looked back to the city as the sounds of fighting and rioting could be heard.

“I don’t think that’s the White Walkers,” Theon said.

Yara drew her sword anew, battle fury already pounding in her veins. “It’s not.”

  
  


###  The Throne Room

Daenerys stared at the dragonglass knife in her right hand. She stared at her frozen left hand. The icy grey corruption had stopped spreading since the Night King had fallen, but it wasn’t receding. Her lip quivered and she started to shake. She had killed humans before, but this was differently terrifying. She felt completely alone. Her eyes blurred until fat tears rolled down her pale cheeks. 

A roar at the window filled her heart with warmth. Drogon. Surely dhe too was free of the Night King’s hold? 

The dragon landed on the building, and it shook. Another screech, and then flames shot through the stained glass over the Iron Throne. Daenerys ducked as shards rained down all around her. She ran for cover, her useless hand protecting her eyes. 

Drogon burned and smashed and clawed through the wall to get to der mother. Finally the hole was big enough for der to slip through, der wings pulled tight to der body. 

Daenerys watched the massive black dragon walk down the wall, talons gouging chunks of masonry bigger than a man. Drogon jumped to the floor, and the building shook again. The legendary beast screamed in triumph, before quieting to allow der mother to pet and soothe.

Daenerys laughed through her tears as she stroked Drogon’s snout. “You did it, darling. You did it.” She laid her silver head on the dragon’s nose. Drogon sneezed as der mother’s hair tickled der nose. Small flames shot out of the dragon’s nose, and Drogon looked taken aback. Daenerys laughed and wrapped her good arm around her child’s neck as she wept, her ruined hand cradled to her chest.

Drogon nosed her until dhe could see the icy hand. Daenerys held her hand out to Drogon to inspect. It was a worthy trade, one hand for the whole of life. She wouldn’t take it back. But she felt ashamed as she hoped Jon wouldn’t be disgusted by a dead limb. 

Drogon finished der inspection, and inhaled deeply. Before Daenerys thought to be afraid or even to look away, Drogon breathed fire on her hand.

The fire wreathed her, licked her hair, disintegrated her clothing. But it didn’t harm her skin. When the flames were gone, Daenerys looked down at her healthy left hand. She turned it over and over, not daring to believe her eyes. The dragon nudged her, and she rested her forehead on Drogon’s snout.

“Thank you, my darling.”

The dragon whuffed softly, pleased with derself.

The spell was broken as screams and the clashing of steel could be heard through the open wall of the throne room. Daenerys climbed into her saddle, pleased to see it had survived the last few hours. One stirrup was still broken, but no matter. As Drogon climbed back through the hole dhe had created in the wall, Daenerys lay flat in the saddle, grateful she didn’t have to ride a bareback dragon naked. Drogon spread der monstrous leather wings, and leapt into the sky.

 

###  In the Fields

Cersei paced back and forth under the wide limbs of the oak tree. She had ridden to their place as fast as she dared, on a horse she had taken on the way out of King’s Landing. There had been no lady’s saddle, so she had ripped off her outer skirts, hitched up what was left, and mounted the horse like a man. Her fine dress was ruined, but all she could think about was Jaime.

This had been their place since they were young. On their first visit to King’s Landing, a wretched horse had thrown her on a day that she and Jaime had been riding alone, scraping her knee. She was angry at the horse, but she was even more upset that her injury would be used as justification to not give her more freedom. Jaime had held her as she cried, tended to her knee, and then kissed her for the first time. In the horrid years of her marriage to Robert, they had slipped away dozens of times to make love in the shade of the massive oak.

A figure was making its way up the lonely hill now. Cersei couldn’t see who it was, but she slipped back into the shadow of the tree near the hobbled horse, hiding a knife in the folds of her gown.

The gasping, panting figure stopped in the sunlight of the field, and pulled down the hood of the cloak. The man’s hair was spun gold with streaks of grey. “Cersei?” he called, swaying.

“Jaime!” she cried, and ran to him.

“Careful, darling,” he cautioned her. “I’ve been hit.” 

Cersei skidded to a stop and really looked at him. He looked awful. He had lost his golden hand, and his ruined arm was pressed to his gut, staunching a deep wound. She gasped and moved forward, intent on helping him sit. “We need to get you to a Maester!”

He chuckled sadly. “There’s nothing for it now, my love. I won’t make it back to the city, and I doubt a Maester would be willing to see me. The Targaryen has taken the city.”

Cersei shivered at the idea of what a Targaryen would do to the deposed and hated Cersei Lannister, but surely there was something she could do for Jaime. 

“Maybe I can help,” she said, running back to the horse. There had been saddlebags. Maybe there was liquor or bandages inside. She could tear her skirt into strips. Something...

She didn’t feel the knife in her ribs, she felt pain exploding everywhere in her body all at once.

Cersei sank to the ground, unable to catch her breath. As she fell backwards, his arms caught her. 

“I couldn’t leave you,” he crooned. 

“At least...” Cersei wheezed, “...it was... you.” Her eyes were jewel bright as she gazed at her beloved twin.

“Oh,” Jaime said sadly. “But it isn’t me.” His face changed.

Arya Stark looked down at Cersei Lannister. 

The dying queen choked on her tears as she tried to say, “No.”

Arya smiled bitterly. “Yes.”

“Jai...me?”

“He was dead when I found him.” Arya pulled her knife out of Cersei’s ribcage and cleaned it on her skirts. Blood flowed openly from the wound. “You are dying, alone. No one knows where you are. No one can save you. And even if they could, why should they?”

There was no answer. Arya stood up. “Thanks for the horse, your grace. Between that and your life, I think we’re almost even for what you did to my family.”

The corpse lay under the tree as the slim, dark-haired woman rode away. A curious crow, smelling blood and fresh carrion, hopped from the lowest branch to the ground. When the body didn’t move, the crow hopped closer and closer. Perched over the body, the crow pecked at the emerald green eye.


	18. The News of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is concluded. Warning for canon-typical violence.

###  On the Street of Sisters 

Rhaegal dropped out of the sky like a sack of rocks into a lake. The street itself rippled, cracks forming in the cheap clay bricks. Fleeing from the soldiers, the screaming commoners didn’t see the ripped up street until it was too late. People fell hard, and got trampled by their friends and neighbors as the rogue Golden Company mercenaries advanced.

Jon jumped out of his saddle and tackled a sell-sword intent on his prey. It was a foolish move, he thought. But the starved, cowering man looked a bit like Mance Rayder, and Jon’s overlarge heart had him acting, gambling with his life that the mercenary wouldn’t look up before Jon landed on him. 

He kicked the sword out of the soldier’s hand. Rhaegal shook der body and roared, preparing to unleash dragon fire. 

“No!” Jon commanded. 

The dragon broke off, looking confused and disgruntled. 

“Watch my back,” Jon shouted, as another mercenary rushed him. Rhaegal snorted in acknowledgement and turned sharply, throwing off more Golden Company soldiers. The dragon reared and stomped, crushing their bodies as if they were made of glass.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and Jon turned to see Yara Greyjoy dressed like a Golden Company soldier. Theon, watching her back, nodded at his friend and brother.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, aye?” She shouted to him over the dragon’s snarls and the screaming of the peasants.

Jon grinned at her. “Aye, but there’s plenty of bastard to go around. Help yourself.”

Despite their swordsmanship, the three were surrounded quickly.

The mercenary captain sneered at them. “You’re going to die here, and then your queen is going to be killed by the true Queen, Cersei Lannister.”

A handsome young sell-sword stepped forward. “Captain, there’s a bit of a problem with that.”   
The captain scoffed at the impudent lad. “Shut it, before I hang you by your ankles and skin you, wretch.”

The lad pulled his sword. “You could try, Captain.”

The mercenary’s face contorted, and he rushed at the younger man, who side-stepped him neatly, dealing a glancing slice to the back of the captain’s torso. 

Jon frowned as he watched the young man continue to whirl and stab at the older, slower captain. Something about the young man’s grace scratched at Jon’s memory. 

A gruff voice to his left startled him. “That’s the lass, innit?” 

The copper dropped, and Jon’s mouth fell open. 

Sandor Clegane watched his one-time captive disarm the mercenary captain without so much as breaking a sweat. He still thought there was too much pansy sword twirling, but her speed had improved, and that face-swapping bit was definitely new.

Arya Stark dropped the stranger’s face, and shouted, “Cersei Lannister is dead! All hail...”

Another Golden Company twat rushed Arya, and Sandor leapt forward with a growl. The battle began again, with five against a multitude. 

Over the clashing of swords, Jon could hear a woman laughing, but he couldn’t tell if it was Arya or Yara.  _ They’re both mad _ , he thought furiously, pulling his sword out of a soldier and blocking a blow so quickly that droplets of blood from the first man fell onto his face like rain.

They were being overrun. They weren’t going to win.

_ I don’t want to die like this _ , Theon thought. _ I want to die at sea _ .

A scream overhead made every single combatant quake in their bones. Soldiers froze. Jon’s heart jumped as he stole a glance into the smoke and flame-tinged sky. A black shape was coming towards them all.

Drogon roared again, a jet of fire scorching the top of a tower as dhe flew into the melee. Dhe landed on a wall, bits of rock falling into the street where der massive talons had broken it off.

On the back of the black dragon rode a woman so beautiful, the moon would weep and hide her face in jealousy. The leather holding her braids had been burned in the dragon’s fire along with her clothing, and her long, silver hair fell loose to her waist. Her violet eyes sparked with a commanding fury.

“Lay down your weapons,” the goddess screamed. “The war is over. The Night King has been defeated by my very hand. I, Daenerys Targaryen, am the rightful Queen of Westeros.”

A member of the Golden Company stepped forward in defiance. “Queen Cersei is the rightful queen!”

Arya lifted her voice so it would carry. “Queen Cersei is dead. By  _ my  _ hand.”

The street was eerily quiet at these words, the frightened peasants not sure how to respond without being killed, and everyone with a weapon trying to process the news through a haze of bloodlust.

Sandor drawled, “Well? Do you surrender to your queen?”

The commoners fell to their knees, eyes turned downwards.

Captain Harry Strickland, somehow still alive, although bleeding profusely, growled and swung at Jon, who had no eyes for anyone except his Queen.

Drogon never missed a beat, and burned Strickland to ashes where he stood. The precision of the flames, only touching one man in a street full of people, had everyone else prostrating themselves before their Lady.

Drogon loudly climbed down the wall into the street. Daenerys dismounted and rubbed der snout fondly. Jon rose to his feet and approached them slowly. Her eyes shone bright with love and unshed tears. He turned to the packed Street of Sisters and screamed, “All hail Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!  First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons!”

The people hailed their Queen. 

Jon whispered, “And my future wife.”

The smile she gave him dazzled him. He pulled his cloak off his shoulders and, mimicking the Westerosi marriage ceremony, draped it around her shoulders before pulling her in for a kiss, to even louder cheers.

  
  


###  The Godswood of Winterfell

Bran Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven, broke his connection with Drogon and sat back in his chair, smiling. 

Ser Davos stood before him, worrying the edge of his cloak. “Well? What’s happened?” Beside him stood Sansa Stark, who shifted from foot to foot, the only betrayal of her own nerves.

Bran’s eyes focused on the here and now, something he did so rarely these days. “The war is over. Actually, both wars are over. The Night King is dead and Daenerys is the Queen.”

The Lord and the Lady grabbed each other for support as they both sagged in relief.

“Bran, you must tell them!” Sansa insisted, waving her hand at the Northerners in the Godswood.

“No, I think their queen should tell them,” Bran mused.

Sansa was taken aback. “It might be weeks before Daenerys can come back...”

“No, lass.” Davos murmured. “The Queen of the North.”

Sansa opened her mouth and found no words. She closed it again. Took a steadying breath. “It wasn’t made official, I wouldn’t want to assume...”

For the second time in as many minutes, she was interrupted. Bran grinned at her. “I may have peeked into the future a bit. She will name you Queen of the North before the next full moon.”

Sansa found herself crying. She squeezed her brother’s hand. “Thank you, Bran.”

He nodded at her, still grinning.

Sansa, with Bran trailing her being pushed in his chair by Ser Davos, made her way to the front of the gathered crowd.

“I am so pleased to deliver this news to you, my brave and stalwart people.” Over the crowd, the tall queen could see Ser Brienne squeeze Tormund’s hand tightly.

“Both wars have found their conclusion. The Night King has been defeated, and Cersei Lannister has been deposed!”

Cheers exploded from under the canopy of red leaves as the Northerners, and their allies, celebrated.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking it out through my radio silence! The story is almost over, and I have every intention of seeing it through!


	19. A New Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Daenerys shows her capacity for compromise, and she and Jon tie up loose ends.

###  The Throne Room

Even after their victory, they couldn’t bring themselves to touch it. Jon Snow studied the Iron Throne, sunlight streaming into the Throne Room in the Red Keep from a dragon-sized hole in the wall and ceiling. He liked the light in here. He would ask the Maester in charge of the rebuilding effort to add more windows.

He ran his hand lovingly over the wooden throne he had made for his bride-to-be. A matching one sat beside it, the finish as smooth as silk and inlaid with gold in the shape of all the sigils of the Great Houses. The largest two, a dire wolf and a dragon, were entwined above the heads of the seated monarchs. Simple thrones for a queen and king who had come from humble beginnings, and fitting for a new Westeros. Their reign would not be one of dominion over lesser beings, but dedication to serve the people of their lands. One thing had to happen first, though.

Jon smiled at Theon Greyjoy, who clapped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “She’ll be here as soon as she can. She had to be very convincing.”

The soon-to-be king’s lips quirked. “ _ Was _ she convincing?”

“Aye, eleven sheep’s worth of good argument.”

A roar shook the room. A large shadow swooped past the opening in the ceiling, and what was left of the vaulted stone trembled as Drogon landed above them. The largest of the dragons of Westeros squeezed through the hole dhe had made only a fortnight before, climbing down the wall carefully. Daenerys Targaryen was holding on to Drogon’s chest, cradled in a new saddle designed to make a man shit himself in fear and allowing a mother to see the world as her children do. 

The dragon dropped to the floor as gently as possible, and lowered derself so der mother could dismount. Daenerys dropped a kiss on Jon’s cheek before turning back.

“Drogon,” the queen said in a voice that carried through the room. All tradesmen and Maesters had turned to watch. “Dracarys.”

Drogon turned der head and opened der massive jaws to release a burst of dragonfire that had no end. Jon felt his body react to the temperature change in the room, sweat beading on his forehead and running down his back. Steam formed thick in the room as the cool air reacted to the flames.

Queen Daenerys stayed next to her child, one hand laid on der foreleg in encouragement.

The Iron Throne began to contort, twisting under the blasting flames. It sagged, lost its shape, and finally, began to melt. The Maesters and their apprentices shouted to each other and moved their apparati closer to the streams of Valyrian steel that had begun to pour down the stone steps. 

Jon and Theon watched together until the steam blinded them, and they left the room. 

“How are the preparations going?” Theon asked, artfully dodging a maid running through the hall with a basket of laundry.

Jon wasn’t as quick and he and the second maid collided, the dirty clothes tumbling to the floor. She growled at him. As he helped her to her feet and handed her the last frock, she dropped a curtsy that didn’t soften the look of annoyance on her young face.

Theon giggled at Jon as they watched her run off. “Terrifying, you are.”

“Aye, well. I never wanted to be king, much less a king like Aerys or Balon.”

Theon smiled wryly.

“To answer your earlier question, the wedding preparations are total chaos, but since I’m trying to marry the queen of all of Westeros, I’ve been told I simply cannot throw her over the back of a dragon and fly her to a Maester.” 

Theon laughed at his cousin’s mournful expression. He looked thoughtful before asking, “Have you heard from Sansa?”

Jon felt his heart drop into his shoes. He sighed. “She won’t come.”

Theon stopped and stared. “What! She has to! Daenerys made her the Queen of the North.”

“I know that, but she won’t. Her last raven said she never wants to leave Winterfell again for the rest of her life, and she’s sending Bran as her envoy. We’ll complete the ceremony with him in her place.”  

Theon studied him. “At least there’s one unpleasant task you can get done before the wedding.”

Jon’s fist clenched. “You found him?”

Theon snorted. “Marei the whore found him. I just made sure she and the other ladies were well-compensated for their hospitality. Apparently, he has had quite an unpleasant disposition since the news of Cersei’s demise, and the ladies were relieved to see the back of him.”

“The crown thanks them for their service.” Jon gave a cold smile. “Time to arrange a hanging.”

  
  
  


###  The Ruins of the Sept of Baelor 

Queen Daenerys Targaryen surveyed the scene with a critical eye. She and Jon had argued for days about the appropriate way to dispense with a war criminal. She maintained that death by dragonfire was the only appropriate end for a traitor, but his discomfort with that method of execution was shared by many people, including all of their Small Council. Not wanting to remind her newly-claimed subjects of her father, Daenerys had yielded with grace. Still, she was herself uncomfortable with a hanging. Perhaps it was the practice of leaving the deceased on the gallows for days to serve as a warning. She didn’t care for that one bit. 

Jon Snow walked to the edge of the platform that had been erected on the ruins of the Sept of Baelor. This is where his foster father had died, executed as a traitor to the crown for speaking the truth about Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime Lannister and their children.  _ Father _ , he thought,  _ I will lead these people with courage and integrity, just as you taught me. The man who passes the sentence should be the man who swings the sword. _ He lifted his hands, and silence rippled through the crowd.

Daenerys felt pride as the man she loved commanded respect with such ease.

“Citizens of King’s Landing,” Jon began, “It has been a long war.”

The crowd shouted their agreement.

“It has been a brutal war.” 

The crowd groaned and whooped.

Jon’s voice was louder than ever. “It has been an unjust war.”

The people screamed and stamped their feet.

“Most of the criminals responsible have already been put to the sword. But one remains. And my friends, this one is more dangerous and more vicious than any other.” Jon nodded to someone no one else could see.

A member of the Queen’s Guard led a small, elderly man into the sunlight. His hands were shackled together in front of him. He squinted at the bright light and the roars of the angry crowd.

“This is Qyburn,” Jon pointed at the small man in long robes. “Qyburn was a Maester, a member of one of our most trusted institutions. He was stripped of his chain for performing experiments on living people.”

The crowd was shocked, and they hissed their disapproval.

“Queen Cercei, of course, allowed him to continue to experiment on the living. In fact, she encouraged it. He tortured many political prisoners. He arranged for the assasination of Grand Maester Pycelle. He created the monster that once was Gregory Clegane with necromancy and other dark sorcery.” 

People in the audience were starting to advance on the stage, murder in their eyes. Jon could see that he needed to finish quickly and allow them some justice, before they rioted.

“Qyburn, for the war crimes of assasination, necromancy, human experimentation, and collaboration with Cersei Lannister, you are sentenced to death by hanging.”

The crowd exploded as Qyburn was led forward and the noose draped around his neck.

“May I have a last word?” Qyburn called, his voice reedy and conniving, even when staring death in the face.

Jon looked at his beautiful Queen and let her decide.

Daenerys stood up, silent. The entire audience fell silent as they waited for their Queen to decide whether or not this evil man would be permitted to speak.

Daenerys looked at Qyburn. She looked at the citizens of King’s Landing. She looked at her beloved. She made her decision.

“No.”

The word fell like a sword, and Jon pulled the lever that dropped the trap door. Qyburn’s body dropped and swung, his brittle neck snapping with the force of the fall. 

The crowd cheered their approval. 

A dark shadow slid over the gathered multitude as a circling dragon temporarily blocked the sun.

This had been their compromise.

“Waste not,” Daenerys said, her clipped voice carrying over the hushed throng. Rhaegal landed beside the gallows, and ate the swinging body in one bite, rope and all.


	20. The Dragon and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding fit for a King.

### The Godswood of King’s Landing 

Samwell Tarly, now a Maester in his own right, stood beneath the oaken heart tree. He fought the urge to shift his feet in discomfort. His father had been a strong believer in the Faith of the Seven, and Sam had been heartily discouraged from seeking out solace in the Highgarden godswood when the Tarly clan had visited the Tyrells. Of course, Sam noted privately, he had also been discouraged from reading, and that hadn’t stopped him. He scanned the crowd looking for one face in a sea of Ladies and Lords. Once he caught Gilly’s eye, the warmth of her smile washed over him, and he felt steady.

Jon Snow, the King-to-be, entered the clearing with the representative of House Stark. Bran’s gaze was leagues away as usual, but he smiled warmly at only the nobles that greeted him. Ser Davos Seaworth pushed Bran’s chair, blushing proud at being included in a State Affair.

Jon, ever uncomfortable at formal events, was grinning like a fool, albeit a shy fool. He was willing to put up with the fripperies and the rituals and the nonsense, because it meant being allowed to wed the woman from beyond his wildest dreams. He reached Sam and pulled the nervous Maester into a tight hug.

“Feeling steady, are we?” Samwell joked, his smile not hiding his own nerves. 

“Nay, I’m petrified!” Jon laughed. “But should I survive, I’ll be _married,_ Sam.”

Sam sobered. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Jon stopped and stared at Sam in surprise.

“Breaking the vows we swore together,” Sam chided. He smiled at the sight of Gilly being chatted up by his own sister, Lady Talla Tarly. “You ought to be ashamed.”

Jon relaxed and chuckled. “I guess I’m not doing as well as I’d hoped.”

Sam clasped Jon’s shoulder. “You are doing just fine, man. Remember to breathe.”

Jon smiled and indeed focused on his breathing as he scanned the crowd for other familiar faces. Bran and Davos were in the front row talking to Lady Yara and Lord Theon Greyjoy. Old war companions, the odd fellows seemed to be quite comfortable together. On the other side of them sat the new Prince of Dorne, but Jon couldn’t remember his name for the life of him. The prince wore brightly colored and richly embroidered fabrics. Jon made a note to speak to him about a trade deal between Dorne and the Crownlands. Lord Yohn Royce and a handsome lad Jon suspected might be Lord Robin Arryn sat on the other side of the clearing engaged in pompous conversation. Behind the finely dressed nobles sat and stood the remaining Brothers of the Night’s Watch, Dothraki bloodriders, and a contingent of Free Folk. Arya Stark and Gendry Waters stood with them, rather close together, Jon noted with a furrowed brow. The Unsullied surrounded the clearing.

A roar overhead had many of the guests looking terrified and uneasy. But everyone that had fought with Queen Daenerys in the Two Great Wars was smiling. The ground shook. Jon smiled. His bride did love to make an entrance. 

The Hand of the Queen, Tyrion Lannister, entered the clearing first and waited. And then the radiant light of creation fell on Daenerys Stormborn. Her hair, usually tightly braided in the Dothraki custom of warriors, fell loose and shining with simple braids wrapped around her head like a crown. Though she had been dressed as a general in most of the time Jon had known her, today she was dressed as a queen. Her blue silk dress flowed around her, and as she moved, embroidered silver dragons rippled, their wings spreading as if in flight. Her luminous vestments paled against the expression of pure joy on her face. She had eyes only for Jon. Tyrion offered her his arm looking slightly confounded at finding himself in this honored position. She took it, and they walked together the length of the godswood until they reached Jon and Samwell. Daenerys kissed Tyrion’s cheek and he stepped to the side.

The wedding ceremony had been carefully designed as a nod to all the faiths, upbringings, and cultures that Daenerys and Jon brought with them. 

Maester Samwell began by invoking the Seven. He then invited the couple to kneel before the heart tree and pray.

When they rose, he told Jon, “You may cloak your bride and bring her under your protection.”

Daenerys removed her cloak and handed it to Tyrion. Jon swept his cloak off his shoulders and when he placed it over hers, her hand found his and gave it a quick squeeze.

Samwell produced a red ribbon from the pocket of his robe. “With this ribbon, I bind this man to this woman, and House Stark to House Targaryen.” Daenerys found Jon’s hand and watched in rapt fascination as the red ribbon was wound around their clasped hands and tied in a knot.

Samwell signalled for them to turn to the crowd and he proclaimed, “My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and woman. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." He leaned forward and stage whispered, “Jon, you can kiss your bride now.”

The couple needed no more prompting. Jon pulled Daenerys into a deep embrace, her tied hand behind her back. He kissed her until she forgot her own name, until he forgot there was an audience.

Their audience cheered and clapped appreciatively. The Dothraki and the Free Folk stamped their feet and shouted creative suggestions.

Daenerys laughed as they broke apart, her cheeks pink from excitement. “One more thing, please, husband!”

Tyrion brought a box forward. It wasn’t very big, but it was big enough. Jon got nervous all over again.

“Jon Snow, will you be my king and rule faithfully by my side?” 

In his quiet, intense voice, he said, “I will.”

The crowd cheered, and then fell to laughing again as she struggled to get the plain silver crown onto his head with one hand tied to him.

No longer willing to be held at bay by western customs, the guests in the back surged forward and lifted their two monarchs into the air, and carried them, still awkwardly tied together, back to the Red Keep, the joyous nobles trailing behind.


	21. The Wedding Feast

###  The Great Hall at the Red Keep

The feast had been going for hours, and Daenerys was tired but happy. Her bloodriders had danced her off her feet. The Free Folk had told stories about Jon until the whole party was crying with laughter. Ser Brienne of Tarth had introduced the queen to her father Selwyn, a shy, bookish man who had blushed even as he bussed the back of the Queen’s hand. Samwell Tarly had introduced her to his wife Gilly, who, Daenerys was thrilled to discover, was studying to become the first woman Maester in the Seven Kingdoms. Arya Stark and Gendry Waters paid their respects together, both dressed in black and grinning like fools at a secret only they shared. Daenerys guessed at the nature of that secret, and judging by Jon’s clenched jaw, he had his own suspicions. 

The Queen tried to slip away unnoticed, but as soon as she moved her chair back, the entire room stood for her. 

Jon whispered, “Are you alright, my love?”

Daenerys smiled at him. “I just need some air.”

“Shall I..?” He started to ask.

“No! Stay and enjoy your feast,  _ your grace _ ,” she teased.

“Like it or not, you will have company,” Jon pointed to Grey Worm standing at her elbow. He and Missandei had been deep in conversation until the Queen had moved. 

Daenerys smiled. “Come, old friend. Let us walk in silence like old times.”

 

Tyrion Lannister, the Queen’s Hand, had also left to get some air. He felt hollow and quiet, not his usual rambunctious self. The misery of the battle against the dead and his quiet humiliation at being kept from the fighting had taken a toll on his heart. He had lived a jolly life to rub his existence in his father’s face. With his father gone, Cersei defeated, and Jaime dead in a stinking alleyway, Tyrion was the last of the Lannisters. He used to dream of this day, and now the day had come, and he grieved.

A quiet footfall in a dark corridor made his pulse race. Bronn the Blackwater stepped out of the shadows holding a crossbow. Tyrion recognized it immediately as Joffrey’s crossbow, the one Tyrion had used to kill his own father on the commode. His stomach lurched at the sight of it, disgusted.

“Have you come to kill me, Bronn?” Tyrion asked with less emotion that he used when expressing the need for sleep.

“No.” Bronn studied the weapon in his hands. “I was tasked with killing you before the war. Promised more gold than my wildest fantasies.”

Tyrion leaned against the wall. “Well, you failed.”

“I was never going to do it. Wasn’t going to fight in no fucking war, neither.” Bronn scratched his chin.

Tyrion studied him. “I believe that makes you a traitor.”

“Oh, aye. That’s why you’ll never be hearing from me again.” Bronn walked to the man he had once saved and offered him the crossbow.

Tyrion flinched away from it. “I don’t fucking want it!”

Bronn took his small hand and placed it on the handle. “I don’t care. It’s yours.”

Tyrion had stared at the hated thing for so long and so intently, he didn’t hear Bronn slip away.

 

Tyrion dragged the crossbow the length of the Keep, it seemed. He was still easily a mile from the stables where he intended to set fire to the fucking thing and rid the world of its evil forever. He was probably crying and he definitely didn’t care. 

A friendly and loud voice asked him, “What’ve you got there, little Lannister?”

Tyrion dropped it and turned to see Tormund Giantsbane smiling cheerfully over a horn of ale.

“It’s a crossbow,” he growled.

“I can see tha’. I suppose my real question is, wha’ are you doin’ with it when there’s fancy food to eat and wine ta drink and beautiful lasses to tell your war stories to?”

Tyrion’s face twisted. “I do not have any war stories, Tormund. I was locked in a crypt with the women and children and Varys and all the other useless people.”

Tormund raised an eyebrow. “I think you mean, all the other  _ important  _ people. Everyone out of the crypt was cannon fodder. And I heard about the old dead coming to life and attacking the wains. You and Queenie with the fire hair saved a lot of lives.”

Tyrion looked away, blinking back tears. His small hands were clenched in fists and all he could see in the flickering torch light was the crossbow he hated with his whole being.

Chin quivering, he turned back to a man who was as comfortable killing a man as he was being kind. “You are right, of course. I apologize for my outburst.” As Tormund waved off the apology, Tyrion picked up the crossbow’s handle and extended it to the Wildling. “I would like very much to give this to you, Tormund Giantsbane, in recognition of your service to Westeros, and as a token of our friendship.”

Tormund’s face broke into a smile as wide as the Wall itself. “Oh, ya wee little Lion!” He picked Tyrion right up into his arms and hugged him. Tyrion, usually very angry about being lifted off the floor without his permission, went stiff for a moment before relaxing into the hug. It was nice, he thought. 


End file.
